Chapter 8: Brad Howry
The overhead lights of the service bay hummed with a monotonous, headache-inducing buzz. The air smelled of burnt oil, tire rubber, and the metallic tang of brake dust. Austin Boyd was bent over the engine bay of a Silverado, torqueing a bolt, when the tension in the overhead cable snapped.
"Look out!" James shouted, but the warning came a split second too late.
The thick cable whipped through the air with a vicious crack. It caught Austin on the shoulder, throwing him off balance. His boots skidded on the concrete, and he went down hard. The back of his skull skimmed against a tool box of socket wrenches,and a sharp star of pain exploded in his temple as the edge of the box nicked his head..
"Shit! Austin!" James screamed, his voice pitching up an octave. "Someone call 911! He’s down!"
Austin groaned, trying to push himself up, but the room was tilting violently to the left. He reached up to his forehead and his hand came away slick and dark. Blood was pouring from a small gash near his hairline, the warm liquid trickling instantly into his eye.
Rodney, a mechanic from the next bay, sprinted over, clutching a roll of blue shop towels. "Here, man, hold still," he said, pressing the wad of fabric against Austin’s head. "Tilt it back."
"I'm okay," Austin mumbled, though he felt far from okay. A wave of nausea rolled over him, cold and sudden, a classic side effect of the adrenaline dump. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. “Maybe not.”
James was pacing frantically, his eyes wide. "There's so much blood. Oh dear God, is he bleeding anywhere else?"
Austin tried to sit up, but a dull, throbbing ache in his right leg made him wince. He looked down. A jagged tear in his work pants had gone unnoticed in the chaos. Blood was seeping through the fabric, staining the gray material a dark crimson right near his inner thigh.
"James! Look!" Rodney pointed.
James let out a strangled yelp. "His leg! He’s bleeding out everywhere! Hurry up with the ambulance!"
The panic was contagious. Other techs were gathering, looking horrified as if Austin had been decapitated rather than just cut. The sound of sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second.
Minutes later, the ambulance bay doors were thrust open, and two paramedics rushed in with a stretcher and trauma bags. The lead paramedic, a broad-shouldered man with dirty blonde hair and a five o'clock shadow, stepped forward. He was calm, a stark contrast to the hysterical mechanics.
"I'm Brad. What happened here?"
"He got hit by a cable," Rodney stammered. "He's bleeding from his head and his leg."
Brad knelt beside Austin, his movements efficient and practiced. He assessed the head wound first, peeling back the blood-soaked towels. "Okay, sir, can you hear me?"
"Yeah," Austin rasped, blinking his eye clear of blood. "Loud and clear."
"Head laceration," Brad announced to his partner. "Small, but scalp wounds bleed like a bitch. It's superficial, probably just needs a butterfly clamp."
"Thank you, Jesus," James breathed, clutching his chest.
Brad shifted his attention to Austin’s leg. "Let's get these pants off so I can see the damage."
He produced a pair of trauma shears. Snip. Snip. The cold metal blades slid easily up the fabric of Austin's work pants, slicing them open to reveal the skin beneath. Brad peeled the fabric back.
The cut on Austin's inner thigh was angry and red, oozing blood, but it wasn't deep. It was positioned high up, dangerously close to the inseam.
"Okay," Brad said, his voice low and steady. He ripped open an antiseptic packet. "This is going to sting."
He began to clean the wound, his gloved fingers pressing firmly against the sensitive skin of Austin's inner thigh. The touch was professional, but the proximity was intimate. Austin winced slightly as the antiseptic burned.
"You alright?" Brad asked, looking up. Their eyes locked. Brad’s eyes were a sharp, intelligent blue, crinkled slightly at the corners.
"Any farther up my thigh with that hand," Austin said, his voice dry despite the pain, "and we’ll have to trade handjobs."
A slow, crooked smile spread across Brad’s face, instantly transforming him from stern medic to something far more dangerous. "That'll need to wait until I get off shift," he murmured, just loud enough for Austin to hear.
Austin grinned, the nausea fading. "I'm going to need a ride home. I usually take the bus."
Brad stood up and addressed the service manager, who hovered nervously nearby. "He’ll be good in a couple of days. He just needs some rest. Should stay off that leg for a day so the wound doesn’t reopen."
Brad turned back to Austin and winked.
An hour later, Austin was sitting on the curb outside the dealership, holding his cut-up pants together with one hand. A sleek black pickup truck pulled up to the curb. Brad leaned across the console and pushed the passenger door open.
"Let me help you in.” Brad smirked.
Austin climbed in, the diesel engine purring beneath them. The cab smelled like leather and Brad's cologne, something woodsy and cedar-heavy. They drove in silence for a few minutes, the city lights blurring past.
"My place is close." Brad said, glancing over at him. "You need to rest anyway."
"Sounds good."
They pulled into a driveway of a modest brick house. Inside, the lights were low, the atmosphere quiet and secluded.
"You want something to drink?" Brad asked, locking the door behind them.
"Just water."
Brad returned with a glass and handed it to him. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms, looking Austin up and down. Austin felt exposed, standing there with one leg of his pants entirely missing, the bandage on his thigh bright white against his tanned skin.
"You look silly with one leg of your pants cut off," Brad said, pushing off the counter and walking toward him. "Let me help you take them completely off."
Austin didn't protest. Brad stepped in close, his hands resting on Austin’s hips. He undid the button and zipper with agonizing slowness. He slid the ruined fabric down Austin's legs, his knuckles brushing against Austin’s cock through his boxers. The fabric pooled around his ankles, and Austin stepped out of them.
Brad took his hand, leading him toward the living room. They sank onto the couch, the leather cool against their skin. The air between them was instantly charged, thick with the tension that had been building since the Brad cleaned his wound.
"Let me see that leg," Brad whispered, his hand resting on Austin's knee.
Austin leaned back, spreading his legs slightly. Brad’s fingers traced the edge of the bandage on his inner thigh, then moved higher. His hand drifted up to the waistband of Austin's boxers, teasing the sensitive skin just above the elastic.
Austin reached out, gripping the front of Brad's uniform shirt, pulling him closer. Their lips met in a rush of heat. The kiss was hungry, desperate. Brad’s stubble scraped against Austin’s chin, adding a rough friction that only fueled the fire. Their hands roamed, exploring the planes of each other’s chests, the hard muscle of their backs, the tension in their shoulders.
"I promised you a handjob," Brad breathed against Austin’s mouth, his hand sliding down to palm the growing bulge in Austin’s boxers. "But I think, now that I’ve seen that dick, I want to suck you dry."
Austin laughed, a low, rumbling sound in his chest. He captured Brad's lips again, nipping at his lower lip. "Not dry, Brad. I want to breed that ass of yours."
"Fuck, you’re hot," Brad groaned, his grip tightening on Austin’s cock.
They didn't waste any more time. Clothes were stripped away with impatient urgency, tossed haphazardly onto the floor. Brad pushed Austin back against the couch, kneeling between his parted legs. He took Austin’s length into his mouth, hot and wet, his tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep.
Austin groaned, his head falling back against the cushions. Brad’s mouth was incredible, but the thought of what was coming next was better. He threaded his fingers through Brad’s hair, guiding his rhythm, feeling the heat build at the base of his spine.
After a few minutes, Austin pulled Brad up, capturing his mouth in another bruising kiss. He could taste himself on Brad’s tongue. "Turn around," Austin commanded.
Brad didn't hesitate. He knelt on the couch, bracing his hands against the backrest, presenting his ass. Austin moved behind him, gripping Brad’s hips. He spat into his hand, slicking himself up, and lined up his cock with Brad’s entrance.
He pushed inside slowly, savoring the tight heat. Brad gasped, his back arching. Austin didn't stop until he was buried to the hilt. He paused for a moment, letting Brad adjust, listening to his harsh breathing.
"You ready?"
"Do it," Brad gritted out.
Austin pulled back and slammed forward, setting a punishing rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their grunts and moans. Austin gripped Brad’s shoulders, pulling him back into every thrust. The angle was perfect, hitting Brad deep.
Brad was panting, his head dropped down. He reached for his own cock, stroking it in time with Austin’s thrusts, but the pleasure was overwhelming. He felt the coil tightening in his belly too fast.
"Fuck," Brad gasped, his hand flying over his shaft. "I'm gonna—"
"Hold it," Austin growled, not letting up the pace. He shifted slightly, changing the angle to grind directly against Brad's prostate.
Brad cried out, his entire body shuddering. The stimulation was too intense, too perfect. He threw his head back, his abs contracting violently as he shot his load all over the leather cushions beneath him. His cum splattered thick and white, striping the black leather without him ever needing a second stroke. His hole clenched tight around Austin's cock, pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
"Good boy," Austin grunted, feeling the grip tighten. "But I'm not done with you."
Austin didn't slow down. If anything, the sight of Brad coming undone pushed him closer to the edge. He gripped Brad's hips bruisingly hard, his fingers digging into the flesh as he pistoned into him. The wet slap of flesh grew louder, faster, more erratic.
Brad was practically boneless against the couch, moaning into the leather cushions, overwhelmed by the relentless friction dragging against his sensitive nerves. "Austin... fuck... fill me up..."
"That's the plan," Austin rasped. He could feel his own orgasm rising, a tidal wave of heat starting at the base of his spine. He drove in deep, one last time, burying himself as far as he could go.
With a guttural roar, Austin came. His cock jerked inside Brad, pumping him full of thick, hot ropes of cum. He ground his hips, riding out the pulse, emptying himself completely into the other man. The heat was intense, filling the tight channel, marking Brad from the inside out.
They stayed locked together for a long moment, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing and the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Austin leaned forward, draping his chest over Brad's back, sweating and spent. He pressed a kiss to the side of Brad's neck, tasting the salt of his skin.
Slowly, Austin pulled out. As he withdrew, a string of milky fluid followed, leaking from Brad's reddened, stretched hole before dripping down his taint.
"Damn," Austin said, watching the evidence of his work trickle out. He gave Brad's ass a sharp smack. "That's how a man breeds a sexy man."
Brad laughed weakly, collapsing onto his side on the couch. He wiped a hand over his forehead. "Fuck me. I think you did that thoroughly enough." He collapsed onto the other end of the couch, catching his breath. "I need a shower."
"Go for it," Austin said, sitting up slowly. He grimaced slightly as he moved, his body feeling thoroughly used.
Brad stood and pointed a finger at Austin. “Remember, you can't get those bandages wet for another twenty hours. Doctor's orders."
Austin grinned, glancing at the white square on his thigh. "I'll try to keep it above water."
Brad moved toward a doorway on the left. “I've got some sweat shorts in the bedroom. Might fit you better than those pants you rode in on, which, by the way, are totaled."
"Sounds good."
Brad walked into the other room, rummaging through a drawer. He came back with a pair of gray athletic shorts and tossed them to Austin. "Put these on. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge if I'm still in there."
Austin pulled the shorts on, the soft fabric a welcome relief against his skin. Brad grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom.
The sound of the shower hissing to life came into the room. Austin sat on the edge of the couch for a moment, listening to the water run. He looked around the room, neat, tidy, utilitarian. He looked at the analog clock on the wall next to the TV.
He stood up, walking to the living room window. He looked out at the street. His leg throbbed dully, a reminder of the day's chaos. The adrenaline had faded, leaving him tired and grounded. He glanced at his cut-up pants piled on the floor. He grabbed them, not to wear, but out of habit. Then, without another sound, he dropped them walked to the front door. He opened it quietly and stepped out into the cool night air. This felt less like a victory and more like some no strings fun. Maybe he wouldn’t change the score card this time.
Brad finished his shower ten minutes later. He shut off the water, toweled off, and wrapped the towel around his waist. Steam curled off his skin as he walked back into the living room.
"Austin?" he called out. "You want a beer?"
The room was empty.
Brad frowned. He looked at the couch, the stain on the leather, the discarded towel. He walked into the bedroom. Empty.
"Austin?"
He went to the front door and looked out. The street was empty. The black pickup was the only vehicle in the driveway.
Brad stood there for a moment, listening to the silence of the house. He looked down at the floor where the pile of tattered, blood-stained work pants lay. They were the only thing Austin had left behind.
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