|End of the Day
Author: Guede Mazaka
There’s a crossroads. And a man standing beside it. He’s smoking, adjusting his shades just in time to block the dust as a battered car pulls up next to him. Bulletholes, crushed backend--the works.
Grin. It’s mirrored in the driver’s side window, and when the glass is finished going down, in the driver’s face. “Got yourself a real mess this time, did you?” the man purrs, sliding his hand into the driver’s hair.
Eyes half-closed, moving into the slow long strokes, driver looks not unlike a large feline himself. He turns his cheek into the other man's hand and drags his lips against the inside of the wrist.
“Swear to God, the money it takes to keep you in cars...” A thick packet flops out the window, interrupting the scold. The man takes his cigarette from his mouth and pitches it into the roadside pebbles before taking the envelope. He doesn't peek inside before slipping it into his coat. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I pay my way. Which keeps me busy and out of trouble while you’re attending to your affairs.” The driver withdraws just long enough to open the door so he can get--
--pounced, tumbled, rolled across the front seats in a delicious writhing tangle. He hasn’t wiped the blood off his face and that’s greatly appreciated, as shown by the fervent licks now cleaning it off, the hands pinning his down, the slow teasing press of a leg between his own.
Then the other man’s gone, sitting up and pulling the door closed. He reaches out and takes the driver--the passenger now--by the hair and yanks him back. Keeps the hand moving into the passenger's pants as the key turns in the ignition. “You’re late.”
Whine and wriggle and twist to lick at one side of a grin. “So?”
“You're definitely going to suffer for that.” Extra-hard tweak of cock. And the car goes off, vanishing into the horizon.