Derek "Rekker" Sterling (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rage_rekker) wrote2022-01-10 11:06 am
rage_rekker) wrote2022-01-10 11:06 am
What are we, 16?
For Smut Prompt: 89)“Just pull the car over!”
Rekker had learned, or just accepted, that the best way to ensure sober time with Bjorn was to catch him right when he woke up and promise a meal out and shopping. Booze got forgotten. Everything got forgotten except for Rekker and shopping. Devon, more than once, warned that Rekker should be careful he doesn’t teach the Swede to just want his money. Rekker ignored him and even ignored his own dislike of shopping. He hated material things, excess, and amused himself imagining he was going to have to build an extra room on his house just for Bjorn’s shit.
That had been the day, they drove up the coast early in the morning and now it was dark. Bjorn was exhausted and laying across the front seat. It looked uncomfortable the way he sat in the passenger bucket seat, bent over the center console, and rested against Rekker’s bicep. It was cute and felt loving the way he endured what had to be uncomfortable just to stay in contact.
The Brit glanced at his sleeping partner a couple times before he slipped his hand off the gear shift and on to the singer’s thigh. If he had been asked a few months ago if he liked the feel of a man in spandex he would have laughed in the person’s face, but now, it felt amazing. His fingers played lazy circles on the inside of Bjorn’s thigh while he watched the cars on the highway. There weren’t many yet. They were still a couple hours from L.A.
The sounds clued him in to what he was doing long before he realized it consciously. Bjorn started moaning in the passenger seat and Rekker realized his hand had drifted up higher to stroke over his crotch. When had that happened? The Brit started to laugh to himself because this was the way with them. They would do something that was intimate or mundane or brought them closer and the response was something sexual. He didn’t mind. Hell, he brought that on often enough himself. It took conscious effort to stop what he was doing and let the Swede sleep.
Quitting was the wrong choice. Bjorn’s eyes opened and he looked between the hand still on his thigh and the ginger. “Awww... why did you stop?”
The voice had such a miserable sound to it that Rekker could imagine the pout without taking his eyes off the road. He pressed his hand back up, tight between Bjorn’s spandex clad thighs, and squeezed. His passenger started to squirm as he stroked the Swede harder. Rekker felt his own body getting wanton and they still had miles to drive before they were home. They both should really stop this but that thought melted away when he felt nails through the thigh of is jeans.
The moment he gasped from the grab to his thigh, Bjorn fell into a round of girlish giggles. The Brit did love to hear him laugh, truly laugh from happiness and not some drunken display. He couldn’t resist the urges all this touching caused, and he shoved Bjorn’s decorative belt up to shove his hand down the front of his pants. Truth was that Rekker was still getting used to Bjorn being male, but if this was a girl, he’d be fingering her now. He slowly started to stroke Bjorn and felt him harden almost immediately. The Swedish was more than he had learned but the gasped and airy sound of Bjorn’s voice gave him a good idea of what it meant.
Bjorn bit his arm hard enough that Rekker cried out from it being unexpected, but he was more prepared for Bjorn’s random passenger seat chaos than he had been the first time they drove up to his house. At least now there wasn’t risk of wrecking the car, or so the Brit imagined until he felt the Swede pulling open his belt.
“You can’t do this while I’m driving.” Rekker was sensible but it didn’t stop the excitement in his voice when he felt his pants loosening. He pulled his hand out of Bjorn’s pants to try and derail the heat in the car. They had too far to drive for both of them to get this wound up.
“You better pull over.” Bjorn was grinning at him when he glanced over at the singer.
“There’s nowhere to…” The sentence was never finished because the soft lips around his cock did almost cause him to drift out of his lane into other cars. He shifted in the seat, already breathing hard and wondering if he should push the Swede away. He didn’t want to. Rekker was desperately watching the signs for somewhere to pull off and get privacy, but it was hard to focus, hard to keep his eyes open against the pleasure. Bjorn was going to get them killed.
Even if his brain was telling him this was insane, his hand was already down giving Bjorn’s ass a hard squeeze and a slap. He finally saw it, a rest area to pull off on. Five mile, five minutes? No, he couldn’t wait that long and crushed the pedal to the floor. He could get there in a minute or two if he drove faster. Admittedly, driving chaotically fast while drowning in the pleasure of how good Bjorn was at sucking cock felt better than drugs. It was closer to the surge of adrenaline he got when skydiving. Briefly, the Brit entertained the idea of staying on the highway and pushing the car as fast as it would go while he got a blow job. Had it been only him, he might, but he was too worried, and accident would lead to Bjorn getting hurt.
“Suck harder.” Rekker spoke, too quietly for the Swede to hear over the music playing, but the hand in his hair, grabbing it and shoving at the back of his head would be enough. He almost lost the road as he took the round about from the highway into the rest area. He needed some place private and pulled all the way down to the end of the lot away from the lights and the buildings.
As soon as he was in a space, Rekker shut down the Firebird and reached down to shove the seat all the way back away from the steering wheel. “Get the fuck up here.”
Rekker yanked on Bjorn’s hair and grabbed him to pull him up into his lap. “Get your damned pants off.”
Bjorn’s face was plastered with a satisfied grin even if he turned bitchy. “You’re a demanding bastard.”
But he obeyed and Rekker slid his own pants down far enough that his belt would be out of the way. Luckily, the windows were up and the T-Tops in to buffer how loud this was going to get. The thought barely crossed his mind before Bjorn was in his lap, hand full of lube and stroking his cock. Everything about him was perfect. The glittery pink silhouetted against the dark shadows outside was beautiful. Those nails were soon under his shirt offering him a gouged scratch as Bjorn situated himself in the Brit’s lap.
He felt relieved that they were both desperate. He could feel it in how Bjorn shoved himself down, moaning and bracing his hands on the roof to get leverage. Rekker leaned the seat back enough to plant his feet and get enough grip to pound up into his lover. He needed this, was desperate for it as he ran both of his calloused hands up under Bjorn’s tank top. The singer was getting loud, close to orgasm, but something distracted Rekker’s attention.
He glanced over at the white car that had just pulled in halfway to the other side of the lot. A fucking cop car. Rekker clamped his hand over Bjorn’s mouth and fucked him rougher. They needed to be quiet and finish before they got caught. Rekker bit down on his own lip, tasting blood, as he struggled to silence himself. His other hand found Bjorn’s hip, shoving him roughly into the thrusts.
Bjorn’s pale body writhing, the friction, and the thrill of potentially being caught nearly drew a growled cry from the Brit as he filled his lover, Bjorn was already collapsing into his chest, a sweating mess. He finally let go of the Swede’s mouth. All Rekker could do was wrap his arms around his waist and gasp for air. It was so fucking hot in the car now.
“Why did you do that?” Bjorn’s loud bitching had him laughing despite his panted breath.
He glanced over, out the driver’s side window and watched Bjorn’s gaze follow. “The fucking cops pulled in.”
Bjorn dissolved into giggles against his chest. All of this had Rekker thinking of being a teen boy in his first car out in L.A. His hands drifted down to the Swede’s bare cheeks, just stroking his lover’s body, and laughing. Everything was so ridiculous in the moment, but Rekker loved it. This felt good, felt right.
Rekker had learned, or just accepted, that the best way to ensure sober time with Bjorn was to catch him right when he woke up and promise a meal out and shopping. Booze got forgotten. Everything got forgotten except for Rekker and shopping. Devon, more than once, warned that Rekker should be careful he doesn’t teach the Swede to just want his money. Rekker ignored him and even ignored his own dislike of shopping. He hated material things, excess, and amused himself imagining he was going to have to build an extra room on his house just for Bjorn’s shit.
That had been the day, they drove up the coast early in the morning and now it was dark. Bjorn was exhausted and laying across the front seat. It looked uncomfortable the way he sat in the passenger bucket seat, bent over the center console, and rested against Rekker’s bicep. It was cute and felt loving the way he endured what had to be uncomfortable just to stay in contact.
The Brit glanced at his sleeping partner a couple times before he slipped his hand off the gear shift and on to the singer’s thigh. If he had been asked a few months ago if he liked the feel of a man in spandex he would have laughed in the person’s face, but now, it felt amazing. His fingers played lazy circles on the inside of Bjorn’s thigh while he watched the cars on the highway. There weren’t many yet. They were still a couple hours from L.A.
The sounds clued him in to what he was doing long before he realized it consciously. Bjorn started moaning in the passenger seat and Rekker realized his hand had drifted up higher to stroke over his crotch. When had that happened? The Brit started to laugh to himself because this was the way with them. They would do something that was intimate or mundane or brought them closer and the response was something sexual. He didn’t mind. Hell, he brought that on often enough himself. It took conscious effort to stop what he was doing and let the Swede sleep.
Quitting was the wrong choice. Bjorn’s eyes opened and he looked between the hand still on his thigh and the ginger. “Awww... why did you stop?”
The voice had such a miserable sound to it that Rekker could imagine the pout without taking his eyes off the road. He pressed his hand back up, tight between Bjorn’s spandex clad thighs, and squeezed. His passenger started to squirm as he stroked the Swede harder. Rekker felt his own body getting wanton and they still had miles to drive before they were home. They both should really stop this but that thought melted away when he felt nails through the thigh of is jeans.
The moment he gasped from the grab to his thigh, Bjorn fell into a round of girlish giggles. The Brit did love to hear him laugh, truly laugh from happiness and not some drunken display. He couldn’t resist the urges all this touching caused, and he shoved Bjorn’s decorative belt up to shove his hand down the front of his pants. Truth was that Rekker was still getting used to Bjorn being male, but if this was a girl, he’d be fingering her now. He slowly started to stroke Bjorn and felt him harden almost immediately. The Swedish was more than he had learned but the gasped and airy sound of Bjorn’s voice gave him a good idea of what it meant.
Bjorn bit his arm hard enough that Rekker cried out from it being unexpected, but he was more prepared for Bjorn’s random passenger seat chaos than he had been the first time they drove up to his house. At least now there wasn’t risk of wrecking the car, or so the Brit imagined until he felt the Swede pulling open his belt.
“You can’t do this while I’m driving.” Rekker was sensible but it didn’t stop the excitement in his voice when he felt his pants loosening. He pulled his hand out of Bjorn’s pants to try and derail the heat in the car. They had too far to drive for both of them to get this wound up.
“You better pull over.” Bjorn was grinning at him when he glanced over at the singer.
“There’s nowhere to…” The sentence was never finished because the soft lips around his cock did almost cause him to drift out of his lane into other cars. He shifted in the seat, already breathing hard and wondering if he should push the Swede away. He didn’t want to. Rekker was desperately watching the signs for somewhere to pull off and get privacy, but it was hard to focus, hard to keep his eyes open against the pleasure. Bjorn was going to get them killed.
Even if his brain was telling him this was insane, his hand was already down giving Bjorn’s ass a hard squeeze and a slap. He finally saw it, a rest area to pull off on. Five mile, five minutes? No, he couldn’t wait that long and crushed the pedal to the floor. He could get there in a minute or two if he drove faster. Admittedly, driving chaotically fast while drowning in the pleasure of how good Bjorn was at sucking cock felt better than drugs. It was closer to the surge of adrenaline he got when skydiving. Briefly, the Brit entertained the idea of staying on the highway and pushing the car as fast as it would go while he got a blow job. Had it been only him, he might, but he was too worried, and accident would lead to Bjorn getting hurt.
“Suck harder.” Rekker spoke, too quietly for the Swede to hear over the music playing, but the hand in his hair, grabbing it and shoving at the back of his head would be enough. He almost lost the road as he took the round about from the highway into the rest area. He needed some place private and pulled all the way down to the end of the lot away from the lights and the buildings.
As soon as he was in a space, Rekker shut down the Firebird and reached down to shove the seat all the way back away from the steering wheel. “Get the fuck up here.”
Rekker yanked on Bjorn’s hair and grabbed him to pull him up into his lap. “Get your damned pants off.”
Bjorn’s face was plastered with a satisfied grin even if he turned bitchy. “You’re a demanding bastard.”
But he obeyed and Rekker slid his own pants down far enough that his belt would be out of the way. Luckily, the windows were up and the T-Tops in to buffer how loud this was going to get. The thought barely crossed his mind before Bjorn was in his lap, hand full of lube and stroking his cock. Everything about him was perfect. The glittery pink silhouetted against the dark shadows outside was beautiful. Those nails were soon under his shirt offering him a gouged scratch as Bjorn situated himself in the Brit’s lap.
He felt relieved that they were both desperate. He could feel it in how Bjorn shoved himself down, moaning and bracing his hands on the roof to get leverage. Rekker leaned the seat back enough to plant his feet and get enough grip to pound up into his lover. He needed this, was desperate for it as he ran both of his calloused hands up under Bjorn’s tank top. The singer was getting loud, close to orgasm, but something distracted Rekker’s attention.
He glanced over at the white car that had just pulled in halfway to the other side of the lot. A fucking cop car. Rekker clamped his hand over Bjorn’s mouth and fucked him rougher. They needed to be quiet and finish before they got caught. Rekker bit down on his own lip, tasting blood, as he struggled to silence himself. His other hand found Bjorn’s hip, shoving him roughly into the thrusts.
Bjorn’s pale body writhing, the friction, and the thrill of potentially being caught nearly drew a growled cry from the Brit as he filled his lover, Bjorn was already collapsing into his chest, a sweating mess. He finally let go of the Swede’s mouth. All Rekker could do was wrap his arms around his waist and gasp for air. It was so fucking hot in the car now.
“Why did you do that?” Bjorn’s loud bitching had him laughing despite his panted breath.
He glanced over, out the driver’s side window and watched Bjorn’s gaze follow. “The fucking cops pulled in.”
Bjorn dissolved into giggles against his chest. All of this had Rekker thinking of being a teen boy in his first car out in L.A. His hands drifted down to the Swede’s bare cheeks, just stroking his lover’s body, and laughing. Everything was so ridiculous in the moment, but Rekker loved it. This felt good, felt right.