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At first Rick can’t feel anything over the rush of adrenaline. His heartbeat swells in his ears like a drum rhythm, and the prickly, nervous coil in his gut doesn’t fade until they’re miles down the highway, Shane panting open mouthed beside him, both of them bruised and exhausted from the day.
As the drive and the silence between them stretches, the tension doesn’t fade. It gets worse, transforms into actual physical discomfort, a low throb of pain radiating outwards from his stomach. Rick has to pull over when it gets too hard to concentrate on the road.
Shane fidgets, looking as uncomfortable as Rick’s feeling. His face is red and he’s breathing harder than he should be. He’s seen Shane run five miles without breaking a sweat, a few minutes of panic on the bus are nothing. Shane looks worn down, his pupils strangely dilated. For a horrible minute Rick thinks he was too late and his indecision led to Shane getting bit. He dismisses the thought as nonsense, Shane wouldn’t keep that from him.
“We stopping for a reason?” Shane asks, shifting in his seat. The fine layer of dust that’s been clinging to him since the school goes airborne, motes winking like snowflakes in the sun.
Rick isn’t sure how to describe it. I think I’m having appendicitis . I think you gave me internal bleeding . What if the virus mutated and we’re both turning.
Shane’s face goes abruptly blank. He’s sweating through his shirt now, damp along the collar.
“You feeling alright Shane?”
Shane doesn’t answer. He licks his lips, adjusts himself in his seat, and swallows. “Guess it’s true what they say, you know, about fighting and fucking.”
He follows Shane’s eyes down to his lap. He’s hard. He’s hard and he didn’t notice, straining in his jeans like some teenager, wound up on nothing.
Shane’s hard too. It would be comical if it weren’t so embarrassing, two grown men, Rick fifteen years married, popping boners in their pants. He laughs at the absurdity and sounds hysterical, laughter tapering off into silence when Shane doesn’t join him.
“I’ve never felt like this,” Rick says, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt to breathe easier. He’s constricted, aching, balls flush up against his body with the awful need to finish, to relieve some of the pressure. “Even when I was a kid I didn’t need it so bad.”
Shane presses the heel of his hand to his crotch. Not getting himself off, but giving himself something to move against. He hisses, “you fucking liar, I saw the socks you stuffed in the bottom of your hamper, Jesus, you couldn’t just use a tissue?”
Rick flushes and that makes it worse, the shame just adding another level of complexity to the building arousal. He hasn’t touched himself yet, but he can’t hold out much longer. It helps some when he unzips his pants.
“Yeah,” Shane says, dark eyes on him, black like the surface of a cold, deep lake, “might as well go for it.”
It’s not the first time they’ve jerked off in close quarters. Once, when they were sixteen, they found some of Shane’s dad’s old Playboys in the hall closet. They’d meant to just look at them, and they had, until, without meaning to, Rick started grinding against Shane’s bed.
“It’s okay,” Shane said, flipping the page to a close up of a woman spread eagled, Rick’s gaze drawn to the pink space between her legs. “You can rub one out if you need to. I don’t mind.”
And Shane hadn’t. Didn’t comment when Rick started to stroke himself. Joined in, not long after. It should have been awkward, touching himself in his best friend’s bedroom, lying on his bed, feeling the vibrations through the mattress as Shane pumped his hips into his fist. They’d cleaned up after as if it was nothing, and ate sandwiches Shane made for lunch.
This is more intimate. This is the smell of them in the car together, the salt and the sweat, heat spreading the sex scent thick around them. The sound of Shane spitting into his hand gives Rick a thrill. Sends a hot bolt of desire through him. It makes him want things that seem incompatible with all that’s happened—the fight, the wariness in Shane’s eyes when he looks at him, like Rick’s come back wrong somehow, when Shane’s the one who’s changed.
The pain gets worse. There’s no relief, no mounting pleasure. Every strip of Rick’s fist over his dick burns, it’s like masturbating for the first time all over again, pulling at himself dry, too hard. It shouldn’t take this much effort, as eager as he is to come and for this to end. He tries closing his eyes and thinking of Lori, the lines of her body beneath the sheet in the early morning, the neat handfuls of her breasts.
Through his teeth, Shane says “this ain’t working.”
Rick agrees. He stops and that’s even worse, his body is on fire, the raw want in his blood is acid, breaking down every bit of bone and muscle it touches. He’s genuinely concerned they may both die.
“We should…” Shane gestures, words beyond him. He’s bitten his mouth almost bloody. His lower lip is swollen and red. Rick wants to lick it and the urge startles him. He’s never had inclinations like that about Shane before, but it’s all he can think of, Shane’s cock straining, uncovered by his hand.
Rick should say no. He wants to, anything less will be ceding Shane victory. He can’t claim to be what’s best for his children and Lori if he’s this willing to throw his marriage vows away. Shane’s some siren song calling him—the muscles bulging beneath his long sleeve shirt, the curves of his thighs, the sounds he might make.
“Anything to stop this.”
Shane’s hand on him is a godsend. Like waking up in the night for a drink of water, so sweetly satisfying. He fumbles for Shane’s dick, too caught up in the way Shane’s touching him. Shane’s not hesitant. He gets Rick off like it’s a mission, using every trick Rick’s heard of and then some, twisting his wrist on the downstroke, thumbing the head.
Rick does what he likes for himself. Long pumps from top to bottom, short ones every so often just at the tip. Shane closes his eyes, body pressed hard against the seat back, and finishes, fist against his mouth to muffle the sound.
“Man, that’s better,” Shane says, still not stopping, unrelenting as he works Ric’s cock.
Rick comes and it’s like dying. He can feel each of his stomach muscles contracting as he moans, hips moving wildly, coating Shane’s hand. Shane doesn’t stop, keeps stroking him through it, prolongs his orgasm to the most intense one Rick’s had in his life, until it almost starts to hurt again.
They catch their breath. Rick tucks himself back into his jeans, not quite sure what to make of everything that’s happened. He wonders if things are going to be any better between them now that they’ve done this for one another or if Shane will use it against him somehow, use it as ammunition for his weakness.
Too soon, the familiar stirring returns. Dulled some, not the same level of intensity, it’s a little easier to think. The need to come is not quite so consuming. But it’s definitely back. They both realize it at the same time. Shane hasn’t put his dick away and it’s up against his stomach, ready for round two.
“I don’t think handjobs are gonna cut it,” Shane says ominously.
Rick doesn’t think so either, but he can’t say it, not ever. That’s a step too far. His stomach cramps, the light flitting through the trees is painful, almost blinding. He frees himself from his jeans again.
Shane gets out of the car. The door opening and closing sends Randall into a panic, thrashing around in the trunk, not sure if that means they’re coming for him. Rick watches Shane walk around the front of the car, open Rick’s door, and get down onto his knees.
“I’m married,” he says, not sure if it’s an excuse or a promise.
Shane glares at him, unimpressed, from where he’s crouched between Rick’s legs, hand on his dick, guiding it, getting it ready. “Yeah, I noticed.”
Shane sucks him down. And if the handjob had been death, then this is heaven. Shane’s mouth is soft and wet, tight as he swallows, lips stretched around Rick to the base. He’s better than Rick would have imagined, keeps his palm flat on the middle of Rick’s chest to limit his movement, holds him still and goes to town on him. It’s brutal, Shane’s tongue working the underside of the head of his cock on the backdraw, a perfect attack.
Shane swallows. Rick tries to buck into it and he can’t, Shane’s stronger than him, and there’s nothing Rick can do but take it. Shane swallows again and again around him and Rick can’t stop himself from groaning, it’s so good, the best kind of torture.
Rick can’t last. He whites out from the sheer pleasure and regains his vision in time to see Shane drool a mouthful of spit and come into his cupped hand.
“What are you doing?” Rick is surprised his voice functions well enough to ask. Despite everything, he wants to come again, his dick is firming, already half hard, and whatever Shane has planned intrigues him.
“We’re not doing this dry.”
Rick’s not sure what that means.
Shane shows him. He drops his pants, shameless, and plants his feet. Exposes himself in a way Rick never thought possible, but his stomach cinches at the sight, his whole body pulses with desire.
Setting out that morning, Rick had thought they’d let Randall go, maybe have a conversation, and hopefully settle things between them. He never thought he’d be watching Shane pump his fingers in himself, the pink clutch of Shane’s hole shiny with spit. Rick stands there, his wet cock exposed to the breeze, body pinging with the need to fuck, to force his way into Shane and stay there forever.
Shane bends himself over, on one elbow to brace himself, and looks back at Rick over his shoulder. Rick guesses that’s the closest he’s going to get to an invitation.
He situates himself behind Shane. He’s not sure how they got here, his cock nudging into the wet place Shane’s made for him, not inside, just testing, feeling the muscle clench. He wants to put his tongue there, feel Shane from the inside out, kiss him filthy, eat his own come right out of him then fill him up again.
“C’mon.” Shane squirms, rubbing himself off against the car now, kicking his long legs wider. “God Rick just fuckin do it.”
Rick feeds his cock into Shane in one push. They sigh in unison, this is better than earlier, this is what they needed, to be joined here like this, Shane accepting all Rick has to give.
It’s the best sex Rick’s ever had. It makes him wonder how many years he wasted pining over Lori when he and Shane could have been doing this instead. How many sleepovers they could have spent locked in Shane’s bedroom, Shane on all fours beneath him, Shane flat on his back on the bed.
He uses both hands to pin Shane to the hood of the car, digging into the meat of his shoulders for leverage. He needs more. More contact. More friction. More of his cock sliding so smoothly in and out of Shane’s body. He can’t help but watch, his spit and come slick dick spears Shane wide, disappears inside him again and again.
He pushes up the hem of Shane’s shirt. He wants to feel skin, to see the shift of Shane’s muscles, to taste the sweat on him. He gets his teeth into the base of Shane’s neck. He starts to pound into Shane in earnest, chasing his own pleasure, fucking Shane with all his strength behind it. He never wants it to stop, though he knows it’s going to, he’s too keyed up to draw it out any longer. It’s almost an out of body experience, emptying himself into Shane, feeling the hot spurt of his come from the inside, feeling how much more slippery it gets, how the last few thrusts are so easy he barely has to move.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Shane groans, out of his mind, “Rick please fuck brother I’m close.”
Rick shoves his fingers where his cock just was, past the stretched rim of Shane’s asshole and deep inside. He almost wishes he could get hard again, Shane is so inviting, sticky and open, Rick’s come making him wet.
He fingerfucks Shane hard. There’s a squelching sound, and Rick has to bite Shane’s shoulder to keep himself from crying out while he plays with the mess he made inside him. Shane shoves into the contact, and when Rick finally finds his prostate, Shane nods and gasps, “yeah yeah don’t stop.”
It doesn’t take much after that. Shane moans when he comes, clenching down so tight Rick couldn’t get his fingers out if he wanted to. He keeps rubbing at Shane, shallowly thrusting, using his thumb to feel the hot swollen point where they’re joined.
“You gotta stop,” Shane says, ragged, “Not that I’m not, uh, enjoying the attention, but I’m gonna need to be able to sit down.”
“Right.” Rick eases his fingers out and watches the wetness trickle down the inside of Shane’s thigh. It would be nice, probably, to get one of the rags Shane keeps in his car and clean it up for him. But the primal part of Rick, the one that got them into this, that was susceptible to the world’s most basic desire, wants to leave it. Wants to know he’s left his mark on Shane, gotten Shane to show that he trusts him, that he’ll finally start letting Rick in.
They stay together. Shane shifting just enough to breathe easier while still supporting Rick’s weight. Night is approaching, the air’s cooled, they’ll both get goosebumps, and the birds begin to sing their soft goodbyes.
“We should get going,” Shane mumbles, sounding half asleep, “still gotta get back to the farm. Do something with Randall.”
“Just a minute,” Rick says, content to lay there on Shane and watch the colors of twilight settle into the forest. A dapple of fading sunlight warms his cheek. He doesn’t want to change the moment and face whatever coldness lies ahead of them. He wants to savor the sweetness a while longer before it breaks.