#ifd2023

If you already read this unabridged & unbetaed on AO3 I'm sorry it was so bad lol.

If you're wondering about the logic of Michael being there, originally the bf was John Tate from H20 and y'all were on a road trip and Michael followed but it was a hot mess.

-----------------

"Ya need a fan belt. . . Is that so?" Bo smiles broadly and looks down, bemused. His sleeves are rolled up and his bronze forearms flex as he crosses his arms.  "Where'd your boyfriend go?"  

"He went for help. He thought he saw someone in the wax museum, so he followed them in." 

Bo looks at you like that's the most interesting thing he's ever heard.  "And he left you all alone here,  huh?"  He turns his head and spits out his toothpick, then steps even closer, closing the gap between you.  He smells like sweat and oil and man.  He cradles your chin with a grimy hand.  Your lips are only a few inches from his. "How bad do you need it?"

The blood drains from your face, then shamefully pools somewhere lower.  You say nothing.  You  look over your shoulder like your boyfriend is going to come back any minute.  On the back of the pick-up truck, a sticker catches your eye, the silhouette of a pin-up with her knees spread. 

 "He ain't coming back, darlin," Bo says, grinning.  His pearly teeth are quite the contrast to his dirty face.  "I'll help you out though, I will," he says softly.  He brings his lips to your ear, pressing his cheek against yours.  "Just be a good girl for me."  That sends a tingling rush to your core and you're frozen. Your heart races. 

Bo pulls back to see your facial expression.  He laughs to himself then looks you up and down again, letting the silence linger. "Okay, I can get you a fan belt.  I was just fixin’ to close up, though,"  he says. He goes to the rolling door and starts to close it, but it gets stuck.  His uniform hugs his shapely ass as he bends down with it and tries with all his weight. The door won't close, though.   

A large, rough hand stops the door at the bottom.  Then, the hand begins to push it back up.   At first, you assume it's your boyfriend, until you see the huge work boots.  Bo struggles against the hand and you can only see little by little.  You can tell from the legs it's an imposing man.  Bo grunts as he pushes it down.  The door creeps up a little more and you can't help but notice whoever he is is packing.  He also seems to be another mechanic, but something is strange.  One side of his suit is tattered and covered in something. 

The door keeps lifting, revealing more of this huge man - his broad chest, a thick arm.  One side of his collar is popped and the other is glued down by a mess of wax.  Bo gives up and  watches the man in awe, hands on his hips, waiting to see what he wants.  The door finishes rolling up, and instead of a face, you see the mask of Michael Myers. He should be dead, but the sinister air about this man leaves no doubt in your mind that it's really him.    

Michael stands patiently with his hands to his sides and subtly wiggles the fingers of one hand.  Bo looks confused.   Maybe the folks out here in Ambrose hadn't even heard of Michael. Michael turns toward you.  

Bo says, "Hey man, who-" but Michael cuts him off with a huge hand around his throat, then forces him against a wall of tools.  Bo reaches out and grabs a huge wrench off the wall and his  forearm flexes desperately as he thumps Michael in the head with it.  Michael staggers back, disoriented.    

Bo lunges for you and to your surprise says,  "come on, Darlin" as his large, dirty hand grabs yours.  He covers your body and tries to get you to the office door.  

Michael grabs Bo by the fabric of his suit and throws him against the truck. They struggle, but Michael puts Bo in a sleeper hold until his body goes limp. He's unconscious.  

Michael seems to have forgotten about you.  You stand there frozen, afraid to make any sudden moves.

Michael pins Bo against the truck with his hips and starts undressing him, exposing Bo's tan, muscular biceps.  Michael has the jumpsuit half off him when he lets the dead weight slump to the ground.  He takes off Bo's shoes and removes the jumpsuit completely.  As the jumpsuit slides over Bo's boxers it briefly hitches on what appears to be a massive erection.  Michael had to have felt it against him when he pinned him to the truck.     

Bo is left with only a navy undershirt and engorged boxer briefs.  With his arms and legs bare, you're struck by how strong he is. If Michael was able to overpower Bo with relative ease, he could surely snap you in half like a twig. 

Michael hangs Bo's jumpsuit over the bed of the truck, then unlaces his own boots and steps out of them.  When Michael stands back up, he unzips his own jumpsuit.  You're captivated.  His big arms emerge and you can see his pecs under a navy undershirt similar to Bo's. They both look slutty with their muscles stretching their too-small shirts. 

When Michael lowers the zipper below belt-level your eyes are drawn back to his crotch.  You feel a pang of anticipation in your throat.  He pulls down the jumpsuit and, oh my.  His underwear is tight enough to leave no doubt that he's very aroused. Something flutters in your core. He lets the jumpsuit fall to the floor.  

Michael lazily takes Bo's uniform off the truck and starts putting it on.  He has to push down on the hardness of his briefs with one hand to be able to zip up.  God, that makes you so wet. He's left with an obnoxious bulge.  The arms are a little tight on him, too.  Your unwelcomed arousal intensifies.  Finally, both his hands come to the collar and pop it up so it frames the mask.  He looks so imposing and striking that you audibly gasp.  

Michael abruptly looks in your direction.  You think about running, but you don't move.  He  walks toward you slowly.  You can't take your eyes off his bulge.  He seems to notice, because when he stops within arm's reach of you, he looks down at himself before he looks back up and grabs you by the throat and jaw.  

Michael lifts you several inches off the ground.  You try to scream, but you're choking.  He pivots toward the back of the pick-up truck.  Your limbs flail as he holds you with one hand and uses the other to unlatch the tailgate in one swift motion and put it flat.  He slams you face down onto the bed of the truck. You get up on your knees enough to start  crawling away, toward the cab of the truck, but you don't get far before he jerks you back down toward him.  His hands wrap around your hips and pull you to the edge.

Your shirt rides up and cool metal chills your abdomen as Michael slides your thighs off the tailgate and your feet kick for the ground.  He unbuttons your jean shorts then sends them to the floor.  You try to move, but a massive hand on your back slams you back down as his other hand gropes you and the pressure of his middle finger wedges your thong into your ass. He pries your legs open from behind. 

Your drenched thong barely covers anything.  Michael easily pushes it aside.  You feel his digits slide against your folds and you're humiliated by how wet you are.  A thick finger plunges inside you and you grunt.  He fucks you with two fingers for a few seconds then withdraws his hand and begins to unzip himself.  At the sound of his zipper, your cunt thirstily replaces whatever moisture he took with him.  You silently curse yourself, then accept you're going to need it. 

You're face down on the bed of this truck, ready for the taking, and you can feel Michael Myers looking at your exposed ass like a piece of meat.   You glance back and see his jumpsuit fall down and hang around his ass.  Then, within seconds you feel his shaft pressing hot and hard against your crack. I mean, rock-hard.  His jumpsuit presses against the back of your legs.   He spreads your  thighs with his knee and lays a massive hand on the small of your back, holding you steady on the flatbed of the truck.  You tilt your hips to give him better access to your cunt, telling yourself it's that or your ass. 

A few seconds later, you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance.  It's big.  You feel it against your inner thighs, too.  He huffs as he pushes the head inside and you wince as it stretches you. .  The stretch initially hurts, but you're so wet that it starts to feels good.  You can't deny part of you wants to be filled even more. He puts both hands on your hips for leverage,  then shoves more of himself inside.   He pauses for only a second then jerks you back on his shaft and sheaths himself entirely in your poor little cunt.  He retreats a little, then thrusts again, hitting that spot deep in your core.  Your shirt rides up more and your belly button ring scrapes against the metal of the flat-bed.  

He reaches down and grips your thighs.   He holds you face-down like a wheelbarrow at the end of the truck, using your thighs to pull you back deeper, harder.  You slide against the cold metal, your belly button clinking.  Each thrust seems deeper than the last until he can't possibly fit any more of himself.   He fucks you slowly, and you feel a knot forming in your core.  You find yourself actively meeting his thrusts.  He speeds up and you feel hotter, weaker, more desperate, ready to unravel.  You're on the edge of climax when his hands tighten around your thighs and you're jolted back into him, harder than ever. 

The tension in your core explodes all at once.  As you see stars, you clench tight around him, your whole body tensing every few seconds.  Then, as you're still riding guilty waves of pleasure, you feel him pulse violently into you, and you're pumped full of his hot cum.  Michael breathes heavily in his mask.  You lie there weak and deflated, catching your breath.  

He shoves you almost all the way back onto the bed of the truck for safe keeping while he zips up. Your feet still dangle off and you're still face down.   You hear a series of loud thuds as the truck dips under his weight.  Michael stands still, feet straddling you. You finally flip over on your back and watch him loom over you.  He crouches down between you and the cab of the truck.   You lift your chest and head up and he grabs you  under the armpits and drags you, leaving a snail trail of cum, until you’re up against the cab.  He gently positions your legs so you’re in the same pose as the pin-up silhouette on the sticker.  

-

Michael leaves the garage wearing Bo’s uniform. Your face is hot and your eyes well up, but you stay posed like that for some reason. After a few minutes, you hear rustling from the ground and finally leave the artful pose to get on your knees and peer over the side of the truck

Bo is alive.  He squints up at you and brings his hand to the back of his head.  "What happened, Darlin'?" You feel the strangest urge to take care of him.