Chapter 1: Lionel Doohan
The air in the garage always tasted the same: a cocktail of hot oil, burnt rubber, and the acrid tang of degreaser. It was a smell Austin Boyd had grown up with, a scent that clung to his clothes and skin like a second, greasy layer. He didn’t mind it. It was honest. Unlike the floral perfume his mother doused herself in before heading out to whatever dive bar was offering two-for-one well drinks, the smell of the garage didn’t lie. It was the smell of work, of sweat, of machines that either did what you told them to or didn’t, with no in-between.
At nineteen, Austin was a fixture at “Jerry’s Lube and Tune,” a grimy, two-bay operation tucked between a shuttered laundromat and a pawn shop that specialized in guitars with broken strings. Jerry himself was a relic, a man in his late sixties with hands like gnarled oak and a perpetual film of grime under his fingernails. He mostly sat in the office now, drinking coffee from a stained mug and yelling at the television, leaving the actual work to Austin and Enrique, oh, and a part-timer named Kevin who was still in high school and had the attention span of a gnat.
Today, it was just Austin. The morning rush had been a blur of minivans and commuter sedans, but now, as the sun climbed higher and baked the asphalt outside, things had slowed to a crawl. He was just finishing up the final torque on the oil pan of a battered Ford F-150 when the bell over the office door chimed, announcing a new arrival.
“Be with you in a minute!” Austin yelled, his voice echoing slightly in the concrete space. He wiped his hands on a rag that was more oil than fabric, then tossed it onto the rolling tool chest. Standing up, he stretched his back, feeling the vertebrae pop. He was wiry, all lean muscle and sinew, the product of a metabolism that burned through anything he put in his body and a job that kept him constantly moving. His coveralls were unzipped and tied around his waist, revealing a plain, slightly sweat-damp t-shirt that clung to his frame.
He walked out of the bay and into the small, cluttered office. The man standing by the counter wasn’t what he expected. Most of the clientele were either grizzled regulars who knew Jerry by name or harried parents just trying to get through their day. This man was different. He looked… solid. He was probably in his late thirties, with a strong jaw, a day’s worth of stubble, and dark hair that was just starting to show a few distinguished threads of silver at the temples. He wore a simple polo shirt and khakis that fit him well, hinting at a powerful build without being ostentatious. He wasn’t fat, not by a long shot, but he had a weight to him, a presence that filled the small space. Austin estimated him at around two hundred pounds, and he carried it with the easy confidence of a man who was comfortable in his own skin. A plain gold band glinted on his left ring finger.
“Morning,” the man said. His voice was a low baritone, smooth and calm. “Just need an oil change and a general check-up. She’s been making a little noise when I first start her up.”
“No problem,” Austin said, his professional smile sliding easily into place. “Pop the hood for me and I’ll take a look. You can leave the keys on the counter.”
The man, whose name on the work order was Lionel Doohan, nodded and went back outside. Austin watched him go, his gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary. There was something about him, a quiet authority that was a stark contrast to the loud, boisterous men his mother usually brought home. This was a man who was in control. Austin felt a familiar thrum of interest low in his belly. It wasn’t just an attraction; it was a challenge. A man like this, a married man, was a fortress. And Austin had always enjoyed finding the weak points in a fortress.
He grabbed a clipboard and a pen and headed out to the parking lot. The car was a late-model sedan, clean and well-maintained. Lionel was already standing by the open hood, looking down at the engine with a thoughtful expression.
“Sounds like it’s coming from the front of the engine, maybe the belt area,” Lionel said, pointing.
Austin leaned in, feigning intense concentration on the serpentine belt and the various pulleys. He was close enough to smell the man’s cologne, something subtle and woody, not overpowering. He could feel the warmth radiating from Lionel’s body. He straightened up, making sure their eyes met.
“Could be the belt tensioner,” Austin said, his voice casual. “Or just a bit of glaze on the belt itself. I’ll give it a good look when I get it on the lift. Won’t take long.”
“Appreciate it,” Lionel said. His eyes met Austin’s, and for a second, Austin thought he saw something more than simple customer-service acknowledgment there. A flicker of curiosity, maybe. It was enough.
Austin drove the car into the bay, the motion smooth and practiced. As he worked, draining the old oil and replacing the filter, his mind kept drifting back to the man in the waiting room. He ran through the usual checklist in his head, but his thoughts were elsewhere, cataloging details. The way the polo shirt stretched across his shoulders. The faint crow’s feet around his eyes when he’d smiled. The simple, unadorned gold band.
Once the new oil was flowing, he popped the hood and began his inspection. The belt was fine. The tensioner was fine. Everything was fine. It was just a well-maintained car. But he had to give the customer something for his money. He grabbed a can of belt dressing and gave the serpentine belt a light spray. It was a useless, cosmetic fix, but it was something he could point to. It was a reason for the noise.
He wiped his hands again and walked into the waiting room. Lionel was sitting in one of the cracked vinyl chairs, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as Austin entered.
“Good news,” Austin said, leaning against the doorframe in a way he knew made his t-shirt pull tight across his chest. “It was just a little bit of belt glaze. I dressed it for you, should take care of the noise. Everything else looks great. Good tires, recent brakes. You take care of her.”
Lionel smiled, a genuine, easy smile that reached his eyes. “That’s what I like to hear. My wife would kill me if I had to put a grand into this thing right before Christmas.”
“Wives can be like that,” Austin said, letting a little bit of shared commiseration seep into his tone. He let the silence hang for a moment before pushing just a little. “You don’t look like you’re from around here. Don’t think I’ve seen you in before.”
“Just moved to the area a few months back,” Lionel said, putting his phone away. “Job transfer. Still trying to figure out where all the good places are.”
“Depends on what you’re looking for,” Austin said, his voice dropping a fraction, becoming more intimate. “Food? Fun? Or… something else?”
He saw it again, that flicker in Lionel’s eyes. The man was definitely not oblivious. He was just… careful. He was considering the question, weighing it. Austin knew this dance. He knew the steps. He knew when to push and when to back off.
“Just a good mechanic, for now,” Lionel said, his tone light, but his gaze didn’t waver.
“Well, you found one,” Austin replied with a grin. “I’ll get your car pulled down and you can be on your way. Need anything while you wait? Water? Coffee?”
“Water would be great, thanks.”
Austin went to the small, humming fridge in the corner and pulled out two bottles of water. He walked back over to Lionel, his steps deliberate. Instead of just handing him one, he held them both out, one directly over the other, his fingers wrapped around the necks of the bottles. He looked Lionel straight in the eye.
“Top or bottom?” he asked.
The air in the room seemed to still. The only sound was the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant rumble of a truck on the highway. Lionel didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He didn’t get angry or offended. Instead, the corner of his mouth quivered into a slight, knowing smile. It was the smile of a man who was used to being in control, a man who had just been presented with an interesting new variable.
“What if I want both?” he asked, his voice a low, amused rumble.
Austin’s own smile widened. This was it. The gate was open. “I’m flexible,” he said, his voice just as low. He separated the bottles and handed the top one to Lionel, their fingers brushing for a fraction of a second. The contact was electric. “I get off at two,” Austin added, his tone now completely stripped of pretense. “I work six to two.”
Lionel took the bottle, his eyes holding Austin’s. He twisted the cap and took a long swallow, his throat working. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at Austin, as if assessing him, calculating the risk. Austin stood his ground, letting him look. He had nothing to hide.
Finally, Lionel nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision.“There’s a hotel not far from here,” Lionel said, his voice calm and steady, as if they were discussing the weather. “The Hampton Inn off the interstate. It’s clean, discreet.”
Austin felt a surge of triumph, sharp and exhilarating. He’d read him right. The fortress had a gate, and he’d just been given the key. “Sounds good,” he said, keeping his own voice even. “I can be there by two-thirty. Give me your number, I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”
Lionel recited his number, and Austin programmed it into his beat-up smartphone, a device with a cracked screen that had seen better days. The contrast between Lionel’s polished appearance and Austin’s own grease-stained existence was stark, but it didn’t matter. In this context, Austin was the one with the power. He was the one providing the service, the one offering the escape.
“I’ll go get your car settled up,” Austin said, turning to leave the waiting room.
“Wait,” Lionel’s voice stopped him. Austin turned back. Lionel was looking at him with an intensity that was new, a raw hunger that had been lurking beneath the surface now fully visible. “You’re sure about this?”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” Austin replied, and it was the truth. This was what he was good at. This was the one thing in his life that felt pure and simple, a transaction of desire without the messy entanglements of emotion.
Lionel nodded again, a final, decisive gesture. “Okay. Two-thirty.”
The next hour and a half was a strange kind of torture. Austin finished the paperwork, took Lionel’s cash payment, no credit card trail, Austin noted with approval, and watched him drive away in his quiet, sensible sedan. Then he had to finish his shift. He cleaned the tools, swept the floor, and restocked the oil filters, his body moving on autopilot while his mind raced ahead, planning, anticipating.
He clocked out at exactly two, punching the time card with a sharp, definitive click. In the grimy employee bathroom, he stripped off his oily coveralls and the t-shirt underneath. He used the gritty industrial soap to scrub his hands and arms, then his face and neck, trying to wash away the smell of the garage. He splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the spotted mirror. A young man with sharp, intelligent eyes and a mouth that was already curling into a confident smirk looked back at him. He looked like a predator who had just scented blood. He pulled a fresh t-shirt from his backpack, a black one this time, clean and tight, and slipped it on. He ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to tame it into some semblance of order. It would have to do.
He walked out of the garage and into the afternoon heat, not bothering to say goodbye to Jerry, who was likely asleep in his chair. The fifteen-minute walk to the Hampton Inn gave him time to center himself, to shed the skin of the mechanic and step into the role he was about to play. He wasn’t Austin Boyd, the kid from a broken home, anymore. He was an object of desire, a fantasy, a solution to a problem Lionel Doohan didn’t even know he had until an hour ago.
The hotel was exactly as advertised: clean, corporate, and utterly anonymous. It was the kind of place where people passed through without ever leaving a mark. Perfect. He pulled out his phone and sent a single text: Here.
The reply came back almost instantly: Room 312.
Austin took the elevator up to the third floor. The carpeted hallway was silent, the air smelling of lemon-scented cleaner. He found room 312 and stood before the door for a moment, his heart beating a steady, excited rhythm. He knocked softly.
The door opened and Lionel was standing there. He had changed out of his polo shirt and khakis and was now wearing a plush white hotel robe. His hair was slightly damp, and he smelled of soap and that same subtle, woody cologne. He looked relaxed, in command.
“Right on time,” Lionel said, stepping aside to let Austin in.
The room was a standard hotel issue: a king-size bed with a crisp, white duvet, a desk, a chair, and a window that looked out over the parking lot. The curtains were drawn, bathing the room in a soft, muted light. It was a stage, and they were the only two actors.
Austin closed the door behind him, the click of the latch sounding loud in the quiet room. He turned to face Lionel, closing the distance between them until they were only a foot apart. He could feel the warmth coming from the other man’s body.
“So,” Austin began, his voice a low murmur. “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” Lionel echoed. His eyes roamed over Austin’s body, from his face down to his worn jeans and scuffed boots. There was no mistaking the desire in his gaze. It was a palpable thing, a current that arced between them.
“You want a drink?” Lionel asked, gesturing towards the mini-fridge.
“I’m good,” Austin said. He didn’t want anything dulling his senses. He wanted to be present for every second of this. “I’d rather just get to it, if that’s okay with you.”
A slow smile spread across Lionel’s face. “Direct. I like that.”
He reached out and placed a hand on Austin’s hip, his fingers firm and possessive. The touch sent a jolt straight through Austin’s body. He leaned into it, tilting his head back slightly, offering his mouth.
Lionel took the invitation. He leaned down and kissed him, and it was exactly what Austin had expected: confident, demanding, and completely devoid of tenderness. His lips were firm, his tongue probing, claiming Austin’s mouth with an authority that was both thrilling and a little intimidating. Austin responded in kind, meeting his intensity with his own, their tongues battling for dominance. There was no romance here, no pretense of affection. This was a raw, hungry clash of need.
Lionel’s other hand came up to cup the back of Austin’s head, his fingers tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss. Austin’s hands found the belt of Lionel’s robe, untying it with practiced ease. The robe fell open, revealing a broad, hairy chest, a firm stomach, and a thick, already-hardening cock.
Austin broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look. He ran a hand over Lionel’s chest, feeling the coarse hair and the solid muscle beneath. He’d been right. The man was built. Solid. Powerful.
“Get on the bed,” Lionel said, his voice a low command.
Austin didn’t hesitate. He toed off his boots and peeled off his socks, then pulled his black t-shirt over his head, revealing his own lean, toned torso. He unbuttoned his jeans and shimmied out of them, along with his briefs, until he was standing completely naked. He was leaner than Lionel, all sharp angles and taut skin, but he was confident in his own body. He knew what it could do, and what it could take.
He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself on his hands and knees in the center of the mattress. He looked over his shoulder at Lionel, who had shrugged off his robe and was now standing by the side of the bed, stroking his impressive erection. His eyes were dark with lust as he took in the sight of Austin, waiting and willing.
Lionel moved onto the bed behind him. He didn’t say a word. He simply ran a hand down Austin’s spine, from the nape of his neck all the way down to the cleft of his ass. The touch was possessive, a survey of his property. Austin shivered, a wave of anticipation washing over him.
Lionel’s hands gripped his hips, pulling him back slightly, positioning him. Austin felt the blunt head of Lionel’s cock pressing against his entrance. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, to open up. There was no preparation, no gentleness. This wasn’t that kind of encounter. With a firm, steady pressure, Lionel pushed inside.
The sensation was intense, a sharp, burning stretch that bordered on pain. Austin gasped, his fingers clenching in the duvet. It had been a while since he’d taken someone this big without more of a warm-up, but he welcomed the ache. It was real. It was a reminder that this was happening, that he was here, in this room, with this man.
Lionel didn’t pause. He buried himself to the hilt in one long, powerful thrust, his hips slapping against Austin’s ass. He held himself there for a moment, letting Austin adjust to his size, letting the fullness of him settle. Austin could feel the other man’s heavy balls resting against his own, could feel the heat of him radiating through his entire body.
“Fuck,” Austin breathed, the word torn from his throat.
“Yeah,” Lionel grunted in response. “That’s what I’m here to do.”
He began to move then, establishing a hard, punishing rhythm. Each thrust was deep and forceful, driving the air from Austin’s lungs. This wasn’t love-making; it was a fucking, pure and simple. It was a raw, primal act, a release of tension for both of them. Lionel was taking what he wanted, and Austin was more than happy to give it to him.
Austin braced himself against the bed, pushing back to meet each thrust, his body rocking with the force of Lionel’s movements. The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies coming together: the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, the creak of the hotel bed frame protesting the vigorous use, the guttural grunts and groans torn from Lionel’s throat with every powerful thrust. For Austin, it was a symphony of carnality, a soundtrack to the complete and utter surrender of the moment. He was no longer a person with a history, with a mother who drank too much and a past that was a knotted mess of regret and impulse. He was just a body, a vessel for this man’s pleasure, and in that, he found a strange and liberating kind of peace.
Lionel’s hands were like vices on his hips, his grip bruising, marking him as his own, at least for this hour. He was fucking with an almost brutal efficiency, each movement calculated to elicit the maximum response. There was no art to it, no finesse, and that was exactly what Austin wanted. It was honest. It was a man using another man for the one thing he couldn’t get at home, and Austin was the willing instrument of that release.
He shifted his weight, pushing up onto his hands to change the angle, and Lionel’s cock brushed against that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside him. A sharp, electric jolt of pleasure shot through his system, and he cried out, a raw, uninhibited sound. Lionel must have felt the response, because he adjusted his own hips, aiming for that spot again and again, each direct hit sending another wave of intense pleasure crashing over Austin.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Lionel’s voice was a rough growl, laced with breathless exertion. He punctuated the question with a particularly deep thrust that made Austin’s vision swim.
“Fuck, yes,” Austin gasped, his head hanging down between his shoulders. His own cock was rock hard, trapped between his body and the mattress, leaking a steady stream of pre-come onto the pristine white duvet. He wanted to touch himself, to stroke himself to completion, but he held back. This wasn’t about his orgasm, not yet. This was about Lionel’s.
Lionel’s rhythm began to falter, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. His breathing was coming in harsh pants, and his grip on Austin’s hips tightened almost to the point of pain. He was close. Austin could feel it in the tensing of the other man’s muscles, in the way his movements lost their measured control and became pure, primal instinct.
With a final, guttural roar, Lionel slammed into him one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. Austin felt the hot, powerful pulse of his orgasm as he emptied himself deep inside his ass. It was a feeling of possession, of being claimed, and it sent a final, intense thrill through Austin’s body. Lionel collapsed onto his back, his heavy weight pressing Austin down into the mattress, his heart hammering against Austin’s shoulder blades. They lay there for a long moment, sweaty limbs and ragged breaths, the only sound their combined panting as they both came down from the high.
Finally, Lionel stirred, pushing himself up and off of Austin. He rolled onto his side of the bed, his chest heaving. Austin felt a sudden emptiness as Lionel’s cock slipped out of him, followed by the warm trickle of his release. He stayed where he was for a moment, then slowly pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. His ass was sore, a deep, satisfying ache that was a physical reminder of what had just transpired.
Lionel was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest rising and falling. He looked sated, relaxed. The tension that had been coiled in him when he arrived at the garage was completely gone.
“Goddamn,” Lionel said, his voice muffled by his arm. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Told you I was flexible,” Austin replied, a small smirk playing on his lips. He stood up and walked into the bathroom, his movements fluid and confident. He grabbed a towel and cleaned himself up, wiping away the mess between his legs and the sweat from his body. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was flushed, his lips were swollen from the force of Lionel’s kiss, and his eyes were bright with a feral, satisfied light. He looked well-fucked. He looked alive.
When he walked back into the room, Lionel was sitting up against the headboard, the duvet pulled up over his lap. He was watching Austin, his expression unreadable.
“You’re something else,” Lionel said, his voice back to its normal, calm baritone. “You do this often?”
Austin shrugged, walking over to the pile of his clothes on the floor. He started pulling on his jeans. “Often enough.”
“Just… for the money?”
Austin paused, his jeans halfway up his thighs, and looked at Lionel. He saw a flicker of something in the man’s eyes, curiosity, maybe even a hint of pity. He didn’t want that. “There’s no money involved,” he said, his voice flat. “This was just for fun.”
Lionel looked surprised. “Seriously? You just… do this? With strangers?”
“With men like you,” Austin corrected him, pulling his jeans up the rest of the way and fastening them. “Men who know what they want and aren’t afraid to take it. It’s a turn-on.”
He picked up his t-shirt and pulled it on, then sat on the edge of the bed to put on his socks and boots. He could feel Lionel’s eyes on him, watching his every move. The silence in the room was different now. The raw energy of sex had dissipated, replaced by a quieter, more contemplative atmosphere.
“What about you?” Austin asked, tying the laces on his boots. “What’s your story? Wife doesn’t put out?”
Lionel sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “It’s not that simple. It’s… complicated.”
“It always is,” Austin said, standing up. He was fully dressed now. The mechanic was back. The fantasy was over. He felt a sense of closure, of a job well done. He had given the man what he needed, and in doing so, had gotten what he needed, too.
“Will I see you again?” Lionel asked. There was a hopeful note in his voice that Austin hadn’t heard before.
Austin considered it for a moment. Another encounter with this man could be fun. He was a good lay, and the power dynamic was intoxicating. But he also knew the danger of repeats. Repeats led to familiarity, and familiarity led to expectations. And expectations led to the messy, emotional entanglements he was determined to avoid.
“Maybe,” he said, noncommittally. He walked over to the bedside table and picked up his phone. “If you’re ever in need of another oil change, you know where to find me.”
It was a deliberate reference to their first meeting, a reminder of the transactional nature of their relationship. Lionel’s face fell slightly, the hope in his eyes dimming. He understood the message.
“Right,” Lionel said. “The garage.”
Austin gave him a final, tight smile. “It was fun, Lionel. Thanks for the water.”
He turned and walked to the door without looking back. He opened it, stepped out into the quiet, anonymous hallway, and closed it softly behind him, leaving the married man alone in the hotel room with the scent of sex and the lingering ghost of his own欲望. As he walked towards the elevator, Austin felt the familiar ache in his muscles and the deep, satisfying soreness in his ass. He felt empty, but it was a clean, cathartic emptiness. He had taken the man’s tension, his frustration, his secret desire, and he had carried it away with him, leaving nothing behind but a memory and a few damp spots on a hotel duvet. It was a good day’s work.
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