Horny means oops, more smut.
This one is straight up gross btw. Just Noah being a nasty little shit, seeking out strangers in filthy truck stop bathrooms.
Noah presses his back to the concrete wall. Feeling the chill against his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.
His jacket is tucked into a bag on the back of his bike. Standing across the large gravel lot from him. Waiting for him to be ready to head off again.
He stifles a shiver against the cold.
It’s late enough for the temperature to have dropped a fair bit. And it’s only going to get colder, if the last few nights have been anything to go off.
And yet, he’s left his warmer layers hidden away. Though not for no reason.
He’s got his sleeveless shirt on. It’s white. So well worn it’s almost see-through in places.
It shows off his arms, and the holes where the sleeves used to be are cut low enough that it leaves little to the imagination.
He’d chosen his leather riding pants too. The tight ones that cling to his ass just right.
They don’t do much to keep him warm either, but they’re good for this. For grabbing the sort of attention he’s after tonight.
The truck stop’s signage throws a glare of orange and yellow onto the nearby landscape.
He’s not fully sure exactly where he is. Just that it’s hot and dry during the day, and biting cold at night.
He’s felt the itch of restlessness under his skin all day. Maybe from the monotonous landscape, or maybe just because it’s been a while.
Maybe he just doesn’t like it when the bruises start to fade.
Less than an hour after he'd parked up. Someone finally pulls in.
There are other semis in the lot. But so far no one has been willing to seek him out.
The way the guy pulling in now eyes him from under the brim of his hat, tells him this might be the one.
And he doesn’t have to wait long after the roar of the engine cuts out, before the man is climbing out and walking towards him.
The anticipation in him climbs higher with every beat of worn boots against gravel.
The guy spits, clearing his throat. He’s careful to keep his face angled so that his hat is hiding it mostly from Noah’s view.
He doesn’t mind. That’s how it usually goes. With the lack of a convenient hole cut into the stall divider to offer anonymity, you take it where you can get it.
All he can tell is he’s a big guy. Sturdy, a little taller than Noah. He’s older too, skin weathered by days spent in the sun.
He’s wearing a dark blue flannel over a work shirt with the same logo on it as his truck.
His jeans are grease-stained but nice, fitted well enough to show some bulge. Which Noah eyes, not so subtly.
He looks big. And the way he’s carrying himself tells Noah he’s not shy about it.
The man doesn’t say anything when he passes him and pushes the door open. He just lazily trails the tip of his finger against the bare crook of Noah’s arm on his way past, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.
There’s no lock on the inside of this door.Any one could walk in here.
Two stalls take up almost half of the total area of the room. The rest is occupied by a row of stained urinals and a lone sink in the corner.
Nothing in here looks like it’s been cleaned in the last month. At least.
The familiar clatter of a belt buckle coming undone is Noah’s cue.
He undoes his own belt, unzips his fly.
He’s about to take his shirt off when the man speaks.
“Leave it on.” He’s gruff, stern. Just how Noah wants them. He gestures him closer, not towards the stalls, like Noah would have expected, but to the sink. “Don’t talk.”
Noah can do that. He hopes it goes both ways. Almost prefers it to the kind of dirty talk he gets out of these guys usually.
He goes easily when the guy grabs for him. Shoves him up against the tiles next to the sink without any preamble.
Noah braces himself with his hands to the smooth wall and rest his head against it. A shock of cold against his overheated skin.
The man palms his ass over his pants, hard enough to force Noah into pushing back against him if he wants to keep his balance.
The stranger takes that as permission to grind on him.
With his fly open, the hard heat of him is a vivid line against Noah’s ass. He feels just as sizable as he’d looked outside, and Noah’s mouth waters at the promise of something that will fill him up, right to his limit.
When he looks to his left, out the corner of his eye, he can see them both in the cracked mirror above the sink.
He can see the way the stranger is looking down at where they’re touching. At the shape of his cock rutting against the leather of Noah’s pants through the fabric of his boxers.
The head is visible above the line of his waistband when he lifts his shirt up to see better.
Noah imagines the glisten of precome on his pants. Pearly against the black.
It’s hard to keep his pleased groan to himself. And thankfully the man doesn’t seem put off by him making noise.
With that beast in his near future he doubts he’ll be able to stay quiet. So long as this guy knows how to put it to good use.
Large hands frame his hips to let him grind even harder. Setting a pace that has Noah straining to keep himself off the grimy wall.
He almost starts to worry that this is all he’ll get, but then his pants are being pulled down roughly, until they’re just low enough to expose him.
He’s guided back to make the angle of his hips steeper, before his legs are kicked apart.
One hand finds the back of his neck, as if to keep him in place, while the other trails up his thigh until a calloused thumb is spreading him open.
He’s been wet for hours. Just from thinking about exactly this.
Finding this run down little truck stop in the middle of nowhere had been a godsend. Just what he needed to settle his mind for a while.
That thumb doesn’t waste any time before it pushes in. Not aiming to get him ready. Just feeling, checking how worked up he is.
Noah tries to push back into it. To hopefully hurry things along. But all it gets him is a firmer grip around his neck that gets his heart beating, eager at the smallest taste of danger.
He wants both of those hands around his throat. Squeezing until the world goes dark.
What he gets instead is a grunt as the stranger pulls his cock out and lines up.
He ruts forwards, overeager, not seeming to care that he’s missing the mark repeatedly, driving Noah more and more out of his mind with each pass, never hitting where he wants him.
Noah is baring his teeth in pure, feral frustration by the time the guy finally bothers to aim true.
All that rage drains out of him like he’s had his strings cut.
He’s suddenly so full he feels like he’s choking on it.
The stretch is sweet agony, and even without any friction, the cock inside him is pressing up against just the right place to force a strangled groan out of him.
The stranger is kind enough to wait him out a little. Can no doubt feel the way Noah’s body is warring between rioting at the intrusion, and melting into the pleasure.
He pets up the length of Noah’s back. Rough palms encouraging him to arch a little deeper, only improving the way he’s hitting Noah’s g-spot.
He’s good.
Experienced. Clearly knows exactly how to push the right buttons to have Noah moaning. Even before he’s started moving in earnest.
He’s only picked up a gentle motion, rocking his hips just a little, as if taking care to make sure Noah is ready.
Which is the opposite of what Noah is after. The kindness sets his teeth on edge.
Hackles up, he slams his hips back, hard. Then he pulls forward, like he’s about to bolt.
That gets him precisely the reaction he was hoping for.
The man grabs him, both hands on his hips to haul him back, flush against his hips.
Noah yelps at how deep he’s getting, now that he’s no longer holding back.
He can feel the curve of a hairy belly against his asscheeks. The moisture of the stranger’s raspy pants on the back of his neck.
Outside, the rumble of a large engine grows steadily louder. Until the crackle of gravel under tires can be heard.
It suddenly reminds him of where he is.
Of the view someone would get upon walking in here right now.
Of him with his pants around his thighs, shirt rucked up and sweat-damp.
Hands white knuckled against slick tile, with a complete stranger twice his age balls deep inside of him.
Fuck he wants that.
Hopes someone will walk in and see them like this.
Maybe they’d like what they see. Maybe they’d stick around.
Sloppy seconds, or just to watch.
Heat shoots through him, and the man behind him picks up a punishing pace.
Noah swears that if he had the strength to take one hand off of the wall, to put it against his stomach, he’d be able to feel the guy nailing into him through the skin there.
He almost wishes he could, just to check. But he can't. Already struggling against the force of the body rutting into him.
What he can manage however, is a glance into the mirror.
Watching himself get fucked is something entirely different to just feeling it.
The sight of the stranger’s hands, skin stained from cigarette smoke and engine oil, contrasted against the pale skin of his sides.
There are red marks in the shape of fingers curling around his hip bones.
The skin on his ass is rubbed raw from the teeth of the guy’s zipper and the roughness of his jeans.
He can’t wait to feel it all in the morning.
It’s almost a surprise when he comes.
He hadn’t felt it build. Too drowned out by all the other thoughts and sensations crowding his head.
It hits him like a freight train. Near blinding in its intensity, and for a moment it really must have been, because the next time he opens his eyes, it’s with his cheek pressed against the tile, knees buckling underneath him, before arms wind around him and haul him up.
The man doesn’t even pull out as he moves him. Wrangles him over to the sink to lay him over it. Giving him something better to hold on to.
Noah stares down at the cracked porcelain, hand curled limply around the faucet to stay standing. Dazed and too ashamed of himself to meet his own eyes in the mirror.
He can feel it when the man comes, but he barely even grunts as he does.
A shame really. Could have at least had the decency to be loud about it.
But decency isn’t a part of this. Not in any way.
Which is evident in how the man pulls out, tucks himself away roughly, and walks out. Door slamming shut behind him.
Leaving Noah bent over the sink. Cum dripping out of him and running down the inside of his thigh. Leather pants still around his shaking legs.
It’s how it usually goes.
Left to clean himself up. To get back in the saddle. And point his bike in the direction of something new.
origamiaround
blakekathryn
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