Chapter 2: Mike Nichols
The last hour of a shift at Jerry’s Lube and Tune always seemed to stretch into an eternity. The clock on the wall, a greasy relic with a cracked face, seemed to mock him with its sluggish progress. Austin was just finishing the final wipe-down on a minivan’s engine bay when he heard the familiar, shuffling footsteps of Jerry, the shop’s owner and resident curmudgeon. Jerry was a man in his sixties with a beer gut and a perpetually worried expression, as if every car on the road was a personal affront to his craftsmanship.
“Austin,” Jerry said, leaning against the bay door and wiping his hands on an already filthy rag. “Got a call. A man named Bob Collins, his truck won’t start. Probably a dead battery. I need you to go over with Enrique.”
Enrique was the other full-time tech, a quiet, competent man in his thirties who spoke about ten words of English and could diagnose an alternator whine from fifty yards. Austin grabbed the rolling jump-start pack, its heavy cables coiled like black snakes.
“Why me?” Austin asked, though he already knew the answer. It was Jerry’s favorite excuse for a teaching moment.
“Because you need to learn the procedure for cross-department calls,” Jerry said, puffing out his chest. “We’re a team. We support our neighbors. It’s about customer service. You watch Enrique, you learn, you do. Got it?”
“Got it,” Austin mumbled, suppressing an eye-roll. He already knew how to check for a dead battery, make sure the alternator was up to snuff, and get a customer on the road again. But he also knew not to argue with Jerry. Austin followed Enrique out of the garage and into the company tow truck. They drove less than a mile to the Marriot’s huge parking lot. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows that made the rows of gleaming sedans and SUVs look like a fleet of beached metal whales.
They found the truck in question, a massive, gleaming black F-250, parked near the back of the lot. A man in a polo shirt with a nametag hanging from a lanyard was standing by the driver’s side door, looking harried. He certainly didn’t look like a man who needed a work truck. That had to be Bob Collins, thought Austin.
Enrique went to work with silent efficiency, his hands moving with practiced grace as he connected the clamps to the truck’s battery terminals. Austin stood by, holding the jump pack and feigning interest, his gaze wandering. That’s when he noticed him.
Leaning against the trunk of a car a few spaces away was another man. He was taller than Bob, with a lean, athletic build that hinted at a runner’s physique. He had short-cropped sandy hair, a friendly, open face, and eyes the color of a summer sky. He was dressed more casually than his friend, in a well-fitting polo and jeans, and he watched the scene at the truck with an amused, detached curiosity.
As Enrique worked, Bob Collins paced nervously. “I can’t believe this. I’ve got to get to the airport in Houston. My flight’s tomorrow, but I wanted to get a head start on the drive. This is a disaster.”
“It’s just a battery, sir,” Enrique said, his voice thick with an accent. “Probably fine.”
The man by the other car ambled over. “Everything okay over here, Bob? I can still give you a ride, if you need one.”
“Mike! Thank God,” Bob said, running a hand through his thinning hair. “This piece of crap won’t start. These guys are trying to jump it.”
Mike’s eyes flicked from his anxious friend to Austin, and he held the gaze for a fraction of a second longer than was necessary. It was a small thing, almost imperceptible, but Austin felt it like a spark. “I’m sure they’ll get you going,” Mike said, his voice a pleasant tenor. He turned his full attention to Austin. “Long day?”
“Just about over,” Austin replied, his own voice smooth and casual. He leaned against the truck’s fender, mirroring Mike’s relaxed posture. “Yours?”
“Conference just wrapped up,” Mike said, gesturing vaguely towards the hotel. “Two days of PowerPoint presentations and lukewarm coffee. I’m ready to get home.” He smiled, and it was a genuine, disarming thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I’m Mike, by the way.”
“Austin.”
“Bob, this is Austin,” Mike said to his friend. “Austin, this is my perpetually stressed-out colleague, Bob.”
Bob offered a weak smile. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for the trouble.”
“No trouble,” Austin said, his eyes still on Mike, “it’s just one of the things I do.”
Enrique gave the signal, and Bob climbed into the cab. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life with a satisfying rumble. Bob let out a whoop of relief.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” he called out, jumping from the truck. He shook Enrique’s hand vigorously, then turned to Austin. “I owe you guys.”
“Like I said, it’s what we do,” Austin said. “Jerry told me he took your credit card number.”
“Yeah, he did,” Bob said, already heading back into his truck. “I’m burning daylight.”
“Take it easy,” Mike called after him. But he didn’t move. He waited until Bob had climbed into the truck and Enrique had started gathering his equipment. “Looks like your ride’s leaving,” he said to Austin, his voice dropping a little, becoming more private.
“Yeah, He’s heading back to the shop,” Austin said.
“Need a lift?” Mike offered. “I’m not leaving until tomorrow.”
Austin’s mind raced. This was an opportunity, falling right into his lap. He glanced over at Enrique, who was already getting into the tow truck, oblivious. He looked back at Mike, letting a slow smile spread across his face. “I was just gonna take the bus from here,” he said, then paused, his eyes locking with Mike’s. “There’s one every hour; the last one leaves at ten tonight.” He cocked an eyebrow and mouthed the word, silently, deliberately: unless.
Mike’s eyes widened slightly, a flash of understanding and excitement crossing his features. He got it. He got it completely. “Well, the bus is a drag at this time of day.” Mike said, his voice now a low murmur. “Come on. I can give you a ride later if you want.”
He didn’t wait for a reply, just turned and led the way towards the hotel entrance. Austin followed, a familiar thrum of anticipation building in his chest. Mike seemed different from the last guy he was with. Lionel had been all about raw, dominant power. Mike was… softer. More approachable. But the hunger in his eyes was the same. It was the look of a man who had been in a cage for too long and had just been handed a key.
Mike’s room was on the fourth floor, a standard corporate box, but it didn’t feel as sterile as they usually did. Maybe it was the open suitcase on the luggage rack, half-packed with clothes, or the conference lanyard tossed on the desk. It felt lived-in, temporarily maybe, but comfortable. As soon as the door clicked shut, the dynamic between them shifted. The casual flirtation in the parking lot condensed into a thick, palpable tension.
Mike turned to face him, his expression a mixture of nerves and desire. “So,” he began, but Austin didn’t give him a chance to finish. He closed the distance between them and kissed him.
This kiss was hesitant at first, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened into something hungry and searching. Mike’s lips were soft, and he tasted of mint and the lingering ghost of coffee. His hands came up to rest on Austin’s waist, pulling him closer. Austin slid his arms around Mike’s neck, his fingers tangling in the short hair at his nape. He could feel the rapid thrum of Mike’s heartbeat against his own chest.
When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily. Mike’s eyes were dark with lust. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you leaning against that truck,” he admitted.
“Me too,” Austin said, and it was true. There was an immediate, easy chemistry between them that went beyond the simple thrill of the chase.
They undressed each other slowly, a stark contrast to the frantic tearing of clothes he had with his last hotel partner. There was a sense of discovery here, of savoring the moment. Mike’s body was lean and defined, his chest lightly dusted with sandy hair that narrowed to a trail leading down to a beautiful, cut cock. Austin, in turn, felt Mike’s eyes appreciatively roaming over his own lean, wiry frame.
Mike led him to the bed. They lay down, facing each other, their hands exploring, mapping out the contours of each other’s bodies. Mike’s touch was gentle, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the demanding possessiveness Austin was used to.
“God, you’re hot,” Mike whispered, his thumb tracing the line of Austin’s jaw.
“Back at you,” Austin replied, his hand sliding down Mike’s stomach to wrap around his hardening length. Mike gasped, his hips bucking slightly into Austin’s grip.
Austin began to stroke him, his movements slow and deliberate. He watched Mike’s face, the way his eyes fluttered shut, the way his lips parted in a silent moan. He was responsive, sensitive. Austin liked that. He leaned in and kissed him again, a slow, deep kiss that matched the rhythm of his hand.
After a few minutes, Mike gently pushed him onto his back. “My turn,” he said, a determined glint in his eye. He kissed his way down Austin’s body, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire on Austin’s skin. He took Austin’s cock in his mouth, and Austin had to stifle a groan. Mike was good. He wasn’t just going through the motions; he was genuinely skilled, his tongue swirling and teasing, his lips creating a perfect, tight suction. He took his time, building the pleasure slowly, expertly, until Austin was writhing on the bed, his fingers tangled in the sheets.
Mike pulled back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the tip of Austin’s cock. He looked up at Austin, his eyes shining with a mischievous light. “You’re bigger than you look,” he said, a note of pride in his voice.
Austin smirked. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to take it all.”
“Oh, I’m going to try,” Mike said, and then he went back to work with a renewed determination. He took Austin deeper, his throat relaxing, his breathing controlled. He managed about four inches before he had to pull back, gasping for air. It was a valiant effort, and Austin was impressed. He appreciated the enthusiasm.
“Okay, my turn to show off,” Austin said, gently pushing Mike away and reversing their positions. He knelt between Mike’s legs, admiring the beautiful cock standing at attention before him. It was perfectly proportioned, thick and straight, with a prominent vein running along the underside. He leaned down and took it into his mouth, not stopping until his nose was pressed against Mike’s neatly-trimmed pubic hair.
Mike cried out, his hands flying to Austin’s head, his fingers gripping his hair. “Holy shit,” he gasped, his voice strained with disbelief and pleasure. “Oh, fuck, Austin…”
Austin smiled around his mouthful. This was his specialty. This was his art. He began to move, his head bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm, his throat muscles working, his tongue pressing against the sensitive underside. He took Mike all the way down, then pulled back until just the head was between his lips, swirling his tongue around the tip before plunging down again. He was relentless, a perfect, slick, heat-driven machine designed for one purpose: to bring this man to his knees.
Mike was completely undone. He was no longer the cool, collected guy from the parking lot. He was a mass of nerve endings, babbling incoherently, his hips thrusting up involuntarily, chasing the incredible sensation. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop… fuck, that’s amazing…”
Austin could feel Mike’s balls tightening, could hear the change in his breathing that signaled he was on the edge. He pulled back, just enough to take away the immediate threat of orgasm, leaving Mike panting and desperate.
“Not yet,” Austin said, his voice husky. He released Mike’s cock and crawled up the bed, lying on his stomach beside him. “I want you to do something else for me.”
“Anything,” Mike breathed, his eyes glassy with lust. “Anything you want.”
“Eat my ass,” Austin said, his voice direct and unashamed.
A slow, wicked grin spread across Mike’s face. “Gladly.”
He knelt behind Austin, his hands spreading his cheeks, exposing him completely. Austin felt a moment of vulnerability, but it was quickly replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure as Mike’s tongue made contact. Mike was, as it turned out, an absolute master at this. He wasn’t just licking; he was worshipping. His tongue was everywhere, swirling, probing, teasing the sensitive ring of muscle. He alternated between broad, flat strokes and pointed, firm jabs, his hands gripping Austin’s hips, holding him in place.
Austin buried his face in the pillow to muffle his cries. It was overwhelming, an exquisite, intimate pleasure that went beyond simple physical sensation. This man, this stranger, was devouring him with an enthusiasm that was both shocking and incredibly arousing. He felt Mike’s tongue push inside him, a wet, intrusive heat that sent sparks shooting up his spine. He was losing control, his body trembling, his mind going blank with sensation.
“Mike… fuck… Mike…” he moaned, the name a desperate prayer on his lips.
After what felt like an eternity of blissful torture, Mike pulled back, leaving Austin gasping and trembling. He kissed the small of Austin’s back, then lay down beside him, pulling him into his arms. They were both sweating, their bodies slick and their breathing ragged.
“I want you to fuck me,” Mike whispered, his voice raw with need.
Austin rolled over to face him, surprised. He had pegged Mike as a top, a man who, like Lionel, would want to be the one in control. “You sure?” he asked, searching his eyes.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Mike said. He looked vulnerable, but there was a steely determination in his gaze. “But… I have a request.”
“Anything,” Austin echoed Mike’s earlier words.
“I want to do it missionary,” he said. “And I want you to kiss me while you do it. I need to be looking at you.”
The request was so specific, so intimate, it caught Austin off guard. This wasn’t just about sex; this was about connection. It was a complication he usually avoided, but looking into Mike’s earnest, desperate eyes, he found he couldn’t refuse. “Okay,” he said softly. “I can do that.”
Austin found the small bottle of lube and a condom in his wallet—a habit born of long experience. He prepped himself quickly, then rolled the condom onto his hard cock. He positioned himself between Mike’s legs, who hooked his ankles around Austin’s lower back, pulling him closer.
He entered him slowly, watching Mike’s face for any sign of discomfort. Mike’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan escaping his lips as Austin slid inside him. He was tight, but he took him willingly, his body opening up to accept him. Once he was fully sheathed, Austin paused, giving him time to adjust.
“Look at me,” Austin whispered.
Mike opened his eyes. They were filled with a dizzying mix of lust, vulnerability, and something else, something deeper that Austin couldn’t, or wouldn’t, name. Austin leaned down and kissed him, a slow, deep, tender kiss that was worlds away from their first embrace.
As he began to move, his thrusts slow and gentle, he kept his eyes locked on Mike’s. He kissed him between thrusts, their tongues tangling, their breath mingling. This was a completely different kind of sex. It wasn’t the raw, anonymous fucking with Lionel. It was a shared, intimate experience, a conversation without words. He could feel Mike’s hands roaming his back, could feel his legs tightening around him, urging him deeper.
The pace gradually increased, the gentle rocking becoming a more urgent, demanding rhythm. The bed was creaking, the room was filled with their soft grunts and moans, but the focal point was the connection between their eyes, the constant, press of their lips. Austin was hitting all the right spots, and Mike was with him every step of the way, his body arching to meet each thrust.
“God, Austin… I’m close…” Mike breathed against his mouth.
“Me too,” Austin grunted, his own orgasm coiling in his gut, a tight, hot knot of pressure.
He reached between them and wrapped his hand around Mike’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. It only took a few pulls before Mike cried out, his body tensing, his cock pulsing as he came, spilling hot streams over his own stomach and Austin’s hand.
The sight of Mike’s orgasm, the feel of his clenching muscles around his cock, sent Austin over the edge. He thrust deep one last time, his own release tearing through him with a force that left him breathless. He collapsed onto Mike’s chest, his head buried in the crook of his neck, his body trembling with the aftershocks.
They lay there for a long time, their bodies tangled, their hearts beating in a frantic, synchronized rhythm. The air in the room was thick with the smell of sex and sweat, but it was different now. It wasn’t just the smell of a transaction; it was the smell of an experience shared.
Finally, Austin stirred, pushing himself up. He looked down at Mike, who was watching him with a soft, sated expression.
“Wow,” Mike said, a small, contented smile on his face.
“Yeah,” Austin agreed. “Wow.”
He carefully withdrew and disposed of the condom, then lay back down beside him. The silence was comfortable, but it was also dangerous. It was the kind of silence that invited questions, that led to conversations about feelings and futures, things Austin had no interest in exploring.
He knew he had to get out of there. He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his clothes.
“You’re leaving?” Mike asked, and there was a note of disappointment in his voice that Austin couldn’t ignore.
“Yeah, I should,” Austin said, pulling on his jeans. “I told my roommate I’d be home for dinner.” It was a lie, an easy one.
“Will I… will I ever see you again?” Mike asked. He was propped up on his elbows, the sheet pooled around his waist, looking vulnerable and exposed.
Austin paused, his t-shirt in his hand. He looked at Mike, at the hope in his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, he considered it. But he knew how this story ended. It ended with awkward phone calls and unmet expectations, with the slow erosion of the perfect, anonymous moment they had just shared.
“I don’t think so, Mike,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I think this is one of those things that’s perfect because it’s not going to happen again.”
The hope in Mike’s eyes didn’t just fade; it shattered. Austin could see the shift happen in real-time, the bright light of possibility dimming into the dull glow of disappointment. It was a familiar look, one he’d seen before, and one he knew how to handle. The key was not to let it affect him.
“Oh,” Mike said, his voice barely a whisper. He looked away, his gaze falling on the discarded lube packet on the nightstand. “I see. I guess I just thought… I don’t know what I thought.”
“You thought it was special,” Austin supplied, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. He pulled his t-shirt over his head. “And it was. That’s why it has to stay right here, in this room. If we try to take it with us, it’ll just get complicated and messy. It’ll ruin the memory.”
He was giving Mike the speech, the one he had perfected. It was a rationalization, but it was also, in its own way, the truth. These encounters were like fireflies—beautiful and magical for a moment, but they couldn’t be captured and put in a jar. They had to be experienced and then released.
Mike was quiet for a long moment, just looking at the rumpled sheets. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight, controlled. “You’re very young to be so cynical.”
“I’m not cynical,” Austin corrected him, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and boots. “I’m realistic. I know how things work. We had a great time. Let’s just leave it at that.”
He finished tying his boots and stood up, grabbing his wallet and phone from the nightstand. He was fully dressed now, the mechanic once more. The fantasy was officially over. He looked down at Mike, who was still lying in bed, looking small and lost.
“Thank you, Austin,” Mike said, his voice soft. “For… everything.”
“You’re welcome, Mike,” Austin replied. He wanted to say something more, something to soften the blow, but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound like a lie. So he just gave him a short, sharp nod. “Good luck with your flight tomorrow.”
He turned and walked to the door. His hand was on the doorknob when Mike spoke again.
“Do you do this a lot? Just… find someone and…?”
Austin paused, his back to the other man. He could feel the weight of the question, the genuine curiosity behind it. He considered his answer. He could lie, or he could be brutally honest. He opted for the latter.
“Yeah,” he said, without turning around. “I do.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He opened the door and walked out, closing it softly behind him, just as he had with Lionel. But this time felt different. With Lionel, there had been a sense of victory, of a clean break. With Mike, there was a lingering residue, a faint echo of the intimacy they had shared. It was a feeling he didn’t like, a crack in the carefully constructed walls of his detachment.
He took the elevator down, his reflection in the polished metal doors looking back at him, a stranger’s face. He walked out of the hotel and into the cool evening air. The bus stop was a block away. He started walking, his hands shoved into his pockets.
He thought about Mike, about the way he had kissed him, about the vulnerability in his eyes when he’d asked to be fucked. He thought about the way he had looked at him after, as if Austin had given him something more than just an orgasm. He had given him a glimpse of something he was missing in his life, a connection he craved.
And Austin had taken it away.
He didn’t feel guilty. Guilt was a useless emotion. But he did feel… something. A strange, hollow ache in his chest. It was the price of the job, he supposed. The price of being the fantasy. You gave men what they wanted, but in the process, you reminded them of what they didn’t have. And sometimes, just sometimes, in the reflection of their longing, you caught a glimpse of your own.
He reached the bus stop and sat on the hard plastic bench. He watched the cars go by, their headlights cutting through the growing darkness. He thought about his mother, probably already halfway through a bottle of cheap vodka. He thought about Lionel, the married man who would go home to his wife, carrying the secret of their afternoon. He thought about Mike, who would get on a plane tomorrow and fly back to a life that was, for him, suddenly a little less satisfying.
They were all just people, trapped in their lives, looking for a way out, a moment of release. And he was the one who provided it. It was a strange kind of power, and a strange kind of loneliness.
The bus hissed to a stop in front of him, its doors groaning open. He stood up and climbed on, dropping his fare into the slot. He found an empty seat in the back and stared out the window as the bus pulled away from the curb, leaving the hotel, and Mike, behind. The city lights blurred into a smear of color, and for the first time in a long time, Austin Boyd felt the weight of his own emptiness. It was a feeling he knew he would have to fill again, and soon. It was the only way he knew how to feel anything at all.
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