Hot Rod

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Luke kept his gaze steadfastly ahead, focusing on the vertical strip of lights that would turn yellow one at a time before the final green-means-go signal to start the race. He refused to glance to his right where Gino Andruzzo sat in a flaming purple dragster with eyes like ripe olives and a body so long he could barely fold it into the cockpit. The fucker.

Today, Luke was going to beat Gino, was going to grind that fucker’s smug face into the gravel and teach him he wasn’t the only driver on the circuit just because women flocked to soak in his honey-smooth Italian accent and gawk at his stubbled jaw. A tight, hard body and ridiculously plump lips wouldn’t win this race. Lightning fast reflexes and nerves of steel would.

Unfortunately, Gino had those too. He’d won three of the last four heats the two of them had competed against each other in, two of which had been for the top prize, like this match here. Only one man would be standing in the winner’s circle hoisting a trophy over his head in a few minutes, and Luke intended to make sure it was him. He knew the consequences of losing all too well.

The first two yellow lights were lit, which meant they were in position, ready to go. Luke opened his hands on the steering wheel, then closed them lightly, forcing himself to take a full breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Gino giving him a mocking salute, which he ignored. Eyes straight ahead. Focus on the quarter mile of pavement between him and victory. Loose but ready.

The remaining yellow lights blinked on one at a time, followed by the crucial green light. Luke stomped on the gas to send his car rocketing forward, shifting twice in a matter of seconds while fighting his body’s instinct to black out from the Gs he was pulling. Then it was just pedal-to-the-medal and hold it straight until he hit a finish line he could barely see over the mound the engine made under the hood. The car was like a wild animal beneath him—unrestrained power humming through his thighs—and Gino’s car kept pace with his. They crossed the finish line too close to call, and Luke popped his chute to activate a deceleration that was almost as adrenalin-inducing as the acceleration had been.

When he finally came to a stop, he shimmied out of his car to stand on shaky legs next to it. He glanced up at the board as he took off his helmet, but he didn’t have to read the numbers to know who’d won because there was Gino, his helmet already off, victory stamped all over his face in the gleam of white teeth against dark skin.

“Good race,” Gino offered offhandedly as the crowd started to swarm him. Sponsors, reporters, pit girls—everyone wanted a piece of him. A pair of blond women bracketed him, their breasts spilling out of their tops and onto his chest, as the press snapped picture after picture. Gino waved the trophy triumphantly over his head with one hand, his other hand firmly planted on an ample ass. He pursed his lips, sending the gesture in Luke’s direction.

Fuck. Why was Luke standing there looking at him? He turned and headed for the locker room, but Gino’s voice, warm as Italy itself, followed him. “See you later, caro.”

Luke flung him a single-finger salute without bothering to turn around. Gino would get what he was owed. Had Luke ever reneged on their deal? No. So there wasn’t any need for Gino to remind him of it in front of the entire world when no one other than the two of them would be involved in the payoff.

The locker room was mostly empty, the other racers having cleared out as they were eliminated. Luke took his time showering, then lingered in front of his locker, getting dressed piece by piece with methodical concentration until Gino blew in like a tropical storm, full of heat and bluster and electric energy.

“You almost had me,” Gino said as he tore off his jumpsuit. “One teeny, tiny microsecond.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, demonstrating how small the gap had been. “But a microsecond is a microsecond, isn’t it, Luke?”

Luke was fully dressed now. He could leave whenever he wanted, but he leaned against his locker to take in Gino’s impressive physique, the hard cut of his thighs coated in dark hair and the thick muscles girdling his waist. Gino shucked his briefs and strolled unselfconsciously to the rack of towels. He threw one over his shoulder without managing to cover anything a more modest man might consider worth covering. His nipples were dark points floating in a mat of darker fur, visible between the folds of white terrycloth, and his lengthening cock hung weighty between his legs.

“Half an hour?”

“Half an hour,” Luke agreed. “Fucker.”

Gino’s laugh rang in his ears as he left the locker room and made his way to his car, a nondescript black sedan. He drove a drag car for a living. Nothing could top that, so he didn’t bother trying. Since he had half an hour to kill, he swung by a drugstore for supplies, then a liquor store for courage, and arrived at Gino’s condo exactly on time, a plastic bag full of condoms and lube in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in the other.

Gino took the bag from him with a smirk. “You didn’t think I had any? I was expecting to win.” He leaned in to nip at Luke’s ear, but Luke shoved him back.

“If you don’t like losing, you should get faster,” Gino said as he dropped the bag onto his kitchen island. “Now come on, caro. You don’t really dislike being on top so much you have to get drunk for it, do you?”

Luke wondered what Gino would do if he said yes, but that wasn’t how they played the game. He’d lost, and he would pay up. He placed the Jack Daniel’s next to the condoms. “For after.”

“After’s going to be a very long time from now,” Gino murmured, moving in again. This time Luke let him. Their mouths met in a kiss that started hot and only grew hotter, their passion smoking like the tires on a dragster. Luke grabbed for the hem of Gino’s shirt, yanking it up and off him, wanting the view he’d had in the locker room when he hadn’t been able to do anything about it.

“Taunting me,” he accused as he ran a finger between Gino’s pecs.

“Wanted you hot for me. You know how I like my bottoms—eager and on top.”

“The top is supposed to be on top, Gino. It’s right in the fucking name. You’re just lazy.”

“So I’m lazy. I worked hard today, winning oh-so-many races. Now I deserve to lie back and enjoy. Suck my cock for me, caro?”

That wasn’t in the deal, but Luke didn’t need to lose a race to suck Gino’s cock, so he dropped to his knees, undid Gino’s jeans, and nuzzled between the folds of denim, seeking the cock he knew would be bare beneath them. Gino had been expecting him. It was a wonder he had pants on at all, but Luke could guess these jeans were for him. They were dangerously low-slung and fastened by a wide leather belt that emphasized the broad flatness of Gino’s abdomen. His hard cock extended out of them like something that’d been staged. Creamy brown flesh, darker leather, rich blue denim—everything hard and male. And Luke on his knees gobbling it up.

“You do that so good,” Gino murmured appreciatively. “This is what I deserve for winning, yes?”

Luke grazed his teeth over Gino’s shaft, just to make a point about bragging hotshots and exactly what they deserved. Gino didn’t even flinch, just traced his thumb over the shell of Luke’s ear and used his fingers to pull his face in tighter. Luke choked on the extra inch of cock that gave him. He came up gasping and glaring.

“Hands on the counter, or I quit.”

“I’m only being affectionate, caro.” But Gino put his hands behind him, bracing them on the edge of the counter, and let Luke go back to trying to take in the enormity of his cock at his own speed. He never managed to swallow it all, but he was a sportsman, a competitor, and he never stopped trying.

“Mm.” Gino rocked his hips. “Let’s get to the fucking. I can’t wait to have you over me, bouncing up and down on my cock.”

Fine. It had to be done sooner or later. Might as well get to it.

Luke climbed to his feet and started shucking his clothes, leaving Gino to deal with the rest of his. The bedroom was up a floor and down a hall. If Luke had his way, they would fuck right here in the kitchen with him bent over the counter and Gino giving it to him hard from behind, but a deal was a deal. He grabbed the bag—just in case they needed more than whatever Gino had—and the Jack for after and headed up the stairs with Gino’s laughter floating up from behind him.

“Yes, eager. Just like that.”

“Earlier you called me slow.”

“Not in bed.” Gino caught up to him at the top of the stairs and threw an arm around his shoulders. “If your reaction times on the track were as good as your reaction times in the sack, maybe you could beat me.”

“Or maybe I’ll fuck you as slow as you think I am,” Luke taunted.

“No bouncing?” Gino stretched himself out on the bed. He stroked himself as he pondered the idea. “I wouldn’t care for that.”

Luke cackled. “Then that’s what you’re getting.”

“But I won,” Gino pouted.

“The deal says I have to be on top. It doesn’t say anything about speed or enthusiasm.”

“You’ll be enthusiastic, caro. I have confidence.” Gino crossed his arms behind his head, the very picture of confidence. Luke almost pounced on his cock because it was so pretty, so perfect, and could tear him up so thoroughly. But no. If he had to be on top fucking his own damn self, Gino could suffer right along with him.

He got a condom rolled down Gino’s shaft, then climbed over Gino’s lap to present his ass to Gino’s face. “You could at least open me up.”

“But I won,” Gino whined again, even as he took the lube.

“Some men would consider the chance to open me up a prize.”

Gino’s teeth nipped at his right ass cheek, then his lips soothed away the flash of pain. “You’re right. This ass is my trophy.”

Luke yelped as he found himself unexpectedly sliding up the bed as Gino dragged him to where he wanted him without any stress or effort. God, Luke loved this man’s strength. Then Gino’s tongue drilled into him, warm and soft—the only soft body part Gino had—and Luke gave himself up to the pleasure of being rimmed until Gino slapped him lightly on the flank.

“Time to fuck.”

“Yes, sir, Your Holy Winning-ness.” He rotated so he could see Gino’s face while they fucked, still determined to take it easy, to give Gino a fuck he would regret asking for, one so slow it’d be the racing equivalent of a Volkswagen bug.

Gino had his cock pointing straight up like a stick shift, and Luke settled onto it, taking the bulbous head with a satisfying stretch, then sliding down until Gino had to get his hand out of the way. Gino folded his arms behind his head and arranged his features in a satisfied smirk. He really thought he was all that, but Luke was going to teach him otherwise. Fast didn’t always win the race.

He raised up, using the strength in his thighs to lever himself up to the point where the head of Gino’s cock was on the verge of popping free, then circled his hips, taking Gino’s cock for a spin in lazy laps. Gino’s lips quirked appreciatively.

“Nice move.”

“Hang on,” Luke told him. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He tightened his sphincter and slid back down until the flesh of his ass cheeks met Gino’s thighs. He circled his hips again, this time giving Gino’s balls a massage as he rubbed over them. He arched his back as he undulated. Race car drivers didn’t have a lot of call to be seductive, but Gino’s eyes told him he wasn’t doing too badly. Gino happened to like stocky, muscular guys with a lot of body hair. Take that, pit girls.

“Enough pole dancing,” Gino complained, his complacency already cracking. He moved his hands to Luke’s hips, trying to urge him along.

“I thought you wanted me to dance on your pole.” Luke raised up a few inches and came back down, then raised up a few inches and came down again. Once he got a good rhythm going, Gino relaxed his grip and let his eyes fall shut. So Luke stopped.

Gino’s right eye winked open. “What the fuck.”

This the fuck. I’m slow, remember?”

“So you work harder, get faster. Like me.”

“Lemme see what I can do.” He gave Gino a few more good strokes, squeezing his thighs together so Gino would have that sense of being ridden he enjoyed so much.

“Uh huh,” Gino mumbled. “This is how it is done.”

“Just like this?”

Just like that. So fucking good.” Gino’s accent made the word fucking sound extra dirty. Luke almost lost his resolve. His prostate was starting to send tingles of pleasure racing through his body. It didn’t want to stop, but Luke was tougher than Gino gave him credit for. He stopped.

This time Gino’s response was less lazy, more pissed. “Why do you not continue?”

“I’m tired,” Luke said with a giant faked yawn. “Losers like me have their limits.”

“Now, Luke,” Gino said, trying to sound patient. “I never said you were a loser. I only said you lost. To me. Which is not so much to be ashamed of.”

“Uh huh.”

“You are a very good sportsman, second only to me. And so you’ll give me the fuck I deserve. Please?”

Fuck, that fucker was handsome, bright white teeth sharp against his winter tan, smiling his most charming smile. Gino pursed his mouth into a pucker and Luke leaned down to capture it, letting their chests brush together as their tongues tangled until Gino pushed him upright.

“Now, come on, caro. Fuck me good.”

This time, Luke pulled out all the stops to give Gino exactly the fuck he’d asked for—hot and fast, powered by the strength of his thighs. He rode Gino like Gino was the most powerful hot rod on the track as he drove him to the verge of orgasm. And stopped.

Gino roared, trying to thrust up into him as he chased the orgasm Luke had failed to deliver, spewing obscenities in a mix of English and Italian. Luke tightened his thighs against Gino’s sides, struggling to stay upright as Gino bucked and writhed and finally gave up. He lay there panting—defeated and furious, the most gorgeous thing Luke had ever seen.

“Sometimes,” Luke said slowly, “when you want something, you have to go after it yourself.”

“You’re going to pay for this,” Gino warned, and then he flipped them over and made good on his threat.

Luke got the fuck of his life—exactly the one he’d wanted—as Gino paid him back for teasing by doing the exact opposite of teasing. There was no finesse, no rhythm, no gentleness. Just strength, fury, and triumph. Gino came with a victorious howl, taking Luke right along with him, then collapsed on top of him. Their chests heaved as Gino panted into his ear and Luke panted into Gino’s.

“Guess I won, after all,” Luke said when he had the breath to speak.

“Fine.” Gino rolled away to land in a sweaty sprawl next to him. “You win the fuck, but I still won the race.” He pulled off the condom and tossed it on the bedside table, then gave his softening dick a squeeze. “And I got to come all the same for losing the fuck, but where is your trophy for losing the race?” Luke smiled up at the ceiling. He knew exactly where his trophy was.

The End

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