When the shift whistle finally shrieked, Pietro tossed his gloves down with exaggerated relief. Across the skeletal floor, Briggs lingered near the stairwell, one boot propped on the railing as he pretended to study a clipboard. The crew shuffled past him, too exhausted to notice how his knuckles whitened whenever Pietro rolled his shoulders — how his gaze tracked the way Pietro's jeans stretched tight when he bent to retrieve his water bottle.
Pietro took his time. Let Briggs sweat. He wiped his neck slowly with a grease-stained rag, smirking when Briggs' pen snapped in half mid-signature. The crew's voices faded into the parking lot hum, leaving only the creak of cooling metal and the distant hiss of a pressure washer somewhere below.
Briggs' boot scraped concrete as Pietro finally approached. "Took you long enough," he growled, but his fingers trembled when he stuffed the clipboard into his back pocket. His truck's tailgate gleamed under a sheen of sweat — already down, already sporting two sweating Budweisers and a folded beach towel that definitely wasn't standard jobsite equipment.
Pietro leaned against the bumper, letting Briggs watch how his jeans clung to his thighs where semen had dried in salty streaks. "I thought you said 4:30 sharp." He popped the beer cap off with his teeth, grinning around the metal when Briggs' nostrils flared at the display. The first swallow was heaven — cold enough to make his throat ache, washing away the taste of sweat and Briggs' earlier claim.
The foreman grabbed him by the belt buckle instead of answering, yanking him close enough to feel the damp heat radiating through his own shirt. "Get in the truck. Now." That deep voice cracked on the last word, betraying the hours spent watching Pietro lick rivets clean while pretending to check torque specs. The cab smelled like overheated leather and the pine air freshener Briggs probably hung to mask exactly this kind of after-hours pickup.
Pietro sprawled across the bench seat, knees wide, letting the AC blast directly onto the damp spot below his zipper. He didn’t miss how Briggs white-knuckled the steering wheel when gravel spit under the tires — how his throat worked when Pietro accidentally palmed himself adjusting the vent. "Your place got a shower?" Pietro asked, dragging a thumb across his lower lip. "Or you just wanna fuck me dirty again?"
Briggs’ jaw ticked. The truck swerved onto the shoulder so fast Pietro’s shoulder slammed the window. "Christ, you’re gonna kill us," Pietro laughed, but Briggs was already unbuckling, already hauling him halfway into his lap by the collar. The kiss tasted like cheap beer and reckless impatience, Briggs’ calloused hands shoving under Pietro’s shirt to scrape nails over his ribs.
The cab was too small for how big they both were — elbows knocking the gearshift, knees jammed against the glovebox. Briggs growled against his mouth when Pietro sucked his lip, hips jerking up to grind against the thick line of Briggs’ erection straining his work pants. "Fuckin’ tease all goddamn day," Briggs spat, wrenching Pietro’s shirt open so buttons pinged off the windshield.
Pietro laughed breathlessly, arching into the hands raking down his chest. "You watched." He nipped Briggs’ stubbled jaw, loving how the man’s breath hitched. "Sniffing your fingers like some pent-up —" His words cut off with a grunt as Briggs flipped him onto his back, the seatbelt digging into his hip. The steering wheel pressed cold against his temple; he didn’t care.
Briggs’ knuckles grazed Pietro’s stomach as he tore at the button of his jeans. The rasp of denim sliding down thick thighs filled the cab, mingling with their ragged breathing. "Christ," Briggs choked out, staring at Pietro’s cock springing free against his belly. He dug his fingers into Pietro’s hips, thumbs pressing bruises into the crease where thigh met groin. "I knew you’d be hard. Knew it."
Pietro braced one foot against the dashboard, letting Briggs see everything — the sweat-damp curls at the base of his cock, the way his balls tightened when Briggs exhaled shakily over them. "You gonna suck me," Pietro taunted, voice rough, "or just fucking sniff me again like some —" The words dissolved into a moan as Briggs swallowed him down without warning, throat hot and tight.
The truck’s AC whined against the swampy heat of their bodies, condensation dripping down the windows. Pietro fisted Briggs’ hair, hips jerking up into that wet mouth, but Briggs pinned him with a forearm across his stomach — controlling the pace, dragging out every filthy slide of his tongue along the underside. A rivet dug into Pietro’s shoulder blade from where it had fallen out of his pocket earlier, the sharp pain only making his cock throb harder against Briggs’ palate.
Briggs pulled off with a wet gasp, dragging his stubble along Pietro’s inner thigh. “Tastes like you been thinking about this,” he muttered, thumb smearing precome across the head. “Fuckin’ dripping before I even touched you.” His breath hitched when Pietro gripped his wrist and forced his fingers deeper, showing him how slick he was underneath.
The cab fogged up completely now, the world outside reduced to watery shapes beyond the glass. Pietro’s heel slid off the dashboard as Briggs shoved his legs wider, the vinyl seat sticking to his ass with every squirm. “You gonna fuck me or what?” Pietro goaded, but his voice broke when Briggs spit directly onto his hole, the cold shock of it making his stomach clench.
Briggs didn’t answer — just hooked Pietro’s knees over his shoulders and leaned down to lick a broad, slow stripe that had Pietro’s toes curling against his back. The beard burn was brutal, the wet scratch of stubble contrasting obscenely with the slick press of his tongue. Pietro swore, hips lifting involuntarily, but Briggs held him down with a forearm across his pelvis, the other hand working two spit-slick fingers into him with no preamble.
The stretch burned, muscles clenching around the intrusion, but Briggs didn’t slow. He crooked his fingers just shy of cruel, scraping over that spot that made Pietro’s vision whiten. “Fuck — fuck,” Pietro gasped, one hand scrambling for purchase on the headrest, the other fisting in Briggs’ hair hard enough to hurt. The truck’s suspension creaked as Briggs shifted, wedging his knee under Pietro’s ass to angle him deeper.
Briggs’ mouth was relentless — sucking marks into Pietro’s inner thighs between filthy, open-mouthed kisses to his hole. The wet sounds echoed obscenely, mingling with Pietro’s punched-out moans. When Briggs curled his fingers again, Pietro arched off the seat with a strangled cry, cock dripping untouched onto his stomach. “Gonna cum like this?” Briggs growled against his skin, breath scalding. “Just from my fingers?”
Pietro’s laugh came out ragged. “Try me.” He barely got the words out before Briggs added a third finger, stretching him with a brutal twist of his wrist. The burn bled into pleasure so sharp it stole Pietro’s breath. His thighs trembled where they bracketed Briggs’ shoulders, toes digging into the man’s spine. The vinyl seat was soaked beneath him, sweat and spit making his skin slide with every thrust of Briggs’ hand.
A horn blared somewhere down the highway. Briggs didn’t even flinch — just sucked the inside of Pietro’s thigh hard, his free hand finally wrapping around Pietro’s cock. The callouses on his palm dragged deliciously over the slick head, thumb smearing precome in rough circles. Pietro’s hips jerked involuntarily, driving Briggs’ fingers deeper. “Fuck — yeah,” he hissed, spine bowing when Briggs’ knuckles pressed against his prostate again.
The glovebox dug into Pietro’s shoulder as Briggs shifted, his own erection straining against his jeans as he worked Pietro open. He dragged his tongue flat over Pietro’s hole, humming low when Pietro’s muscles fluttered around his fingers. “Quit playing,” Pietro gasped, gripping the headrest so hard the plastic groaned. “You want me to beg? Is that it?”
Briggs pulled his fingers out with a slick sound, wiping them on Pietro’s thigh before undoing his own belt one-handed. The buckle clanked against the seat adjuster, his cock springing free — thick and flushed, the head glistening. He spat into his palm, stroking himself roughly as he lined up. “Nah,” he muttered, voice raw. “Just wanna watch you take it.”
The first push stole Pietro’s breath. Briggs wasn’t gentle, wasn’t slow — just fed his cock into him in one relentless thrust until his balls slapped Pietro’s ass. The stretch burned, muscles clamping down reflexively, but Briggs didn’t stop. He braced a hand by Pietro’s head, the other gripping his hip hard enough to leave marks, and rolled his hips in a deep, grinding circle that made Pietro’s toes curl. “Fuck, you’re tight,” Briggs gritted out, sweat dripping off his nose onto Pietro’s chest. “Even after all that.”
Pietro threw his head back against the seat, the cracked leather sticking to his shoulders. Every inch of Briggs inside him was overwhelming — the thick heat, the way his pubes scratched Pietro’s ass, the obscene wet sound every time he pulled back only to shove in again. The steering wheel dug into his bicep, the AC vent blowing icy air across his flushed face, but all he could focus on was the brutal drag of Briggs’ cock against his walls.
Briggs’ rhythm was merciless, hips slamming forward with a force that rocked the entire truck. His beard scraped Pietro’s collarbone when he bent down to bite at his nipple, teeth sharp through the sweat-slick skin. “Fuck — fuck, yeah,” Pietro gasped, legs hooking around Briggs’ waist to pull him deeper. The angle shifted, Briggs’ next thrust punching a ragged moan from Pietro’s throat as his cockhead nailed that spot inside him.
The window fogged completely now, the cab filled with the wet slap of skin and Briggs’ ragged grunts. Pietro’s fingers scrabbled at the headrest, plastic cracking under his grip, as Briggs pinned his hips down and fucked into him with short, brutal strokes. “Look at you,” Briggs growled, thumb smearing precome across Pietro’s abs. “Taking it like you were made for this.”
Pietro’s laugh dissolved into a moan as Briggs angled deeper, the steering wheel digging into his temple with every thrust. The smell of sweat and sex clung thick in the humid air — pine air freshener totally overwhelmed — mingling with the acrid tang of overheated leather. Briggs’ calloused palm slid up Pietro’s chest, rough fingers circling his throat just shy of pressure. “Gonna cum untouched?” he taunted, hips snapping forward. “Just from my cock?”
A shudder ripped through Pietro’s body. He could feel his own pulse hammering where Briggs’ thumb pressed against his windpipe, his balls drawing up tight against the brutal rhythm. The vinyl seat groaned under their combined weight, sticky with sweat beneath Pietro’s shoulder blades. When Briggs suddenly wrenched him sideways — pinning his legs against the dashboard — the new angle punched a strangled noise from Pietro’s throat.
Briggs’ hips stuttered, his rhythm breaking as he buried himself to the hilt. “Fuck — fuck, you feel that?” His voice cracked on the words, fingers tightening around Pietro’s thigh as his cock twitched deep inside. The scent of sex thickened in the humid cab, Briggs’ musk mixing with the salt-tang of Pietro’s sweat where his face was mashed against the seat.
Pietro couldn’t answer — not with Briggs’ forearm pressing into his windpipe, not with every thrust sending sparks up his spine. His vision blurred at the edges, fingers clawing uselessly at the dashboard as Briggs fucked him into the upholstery. The angle was brutal, Briggs’ pelvis grinding brutally against his ass, his balls slapping wetly against Pietro’s skin.
Then Briggs’ hand slid down Pietro’s stomach, calloused fingers wrapping around his cock in a grip just shy of painful. One rough stroke, two — and Pietro came with a strangled shout, back arching off the seat as his orgasm ripped through him. Hot ropes of cum splattered across his abs and Briggs’ knuckles, the scent of salt and musk choking the air.
Briggs didn’t slow. He fucked Pietro through it, hips snapping erratically as his own climax built — the wet slap of skin growing frantic, his breath coming in ragged bursts against Pietro’s shoulder. When he finally came, it was with a guttural groan as his cock pulsed sperm deep inside. Pietro felt the hot spill, the way Briggs’ thighs trembled against his hips, the sticky mess between them when Briggs finally collapsed forward, forehead pressed to the fogged window.
Silence settled, broken only by their heaving breaths and the AC’s persistent hum. Briggs’ weight was oppressive, his sweat-slick chest pressing Pietro into the ruined upholstery, but neither moved. Eventually, Briggs exhaled sharply and rolled off, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound that made Pietro grimace and grin simultaneously. “Christ,” Briggs muttered, swiping a hand down his face. His forearm glistened with Pietro’s release.
Pietro stretched gingerly, wincing as abused muscles protested. The vinyl seat crackled beneath him, sticky with sweat and spend. He fumbled for his jeans, bunched around one ankle, and used them to wipe the worst off his stomach before tossing them onto the dashboard. Briggs shot him a look but didn’t protest — just reached behind the seat for a crumpled fast-food napkin and tossed it at him. “Clean up,” he grunted, adjusting himself with a wince.
The engine roared back to life, filling the cab with vibrations that made Pietro’s oversensitive skin tingle. He pressed his forehead to the passenger window, watching the condensation slide in rivulets as Briggs merged onto the highway. The air smelled like sex and cheap pine, Briggs’ sweat-darkened t-shirt clinging to his shoulders where Pietro had gripped him.
Briggs drove one-handed, the other resting on the gearshift — knuckles scraped red, tendons flexing whenever he changed lanes. Pietro tracked the movement, throat dry despite the Budweiser’s lingering aftertaste. Every bump in the road sent a fresh throb through his ass, a reminder of how roughly Briggs had taken him. The seatbelt chafed where it crossed his bare chest, but he didn’t fasten it properly — too busy watching Briggs’ thumb tap impatiently against the wheel.
The truck’s headlights cut through the dusk, illuminating roadside weeds bent under the day’s heat. Briggs exhaled sharply through his nose when Pietro shifted, hissing as the vinyl stuck to his sweaty back. “Stop squirming,” Briggs muttered, but his fingers tightened on the wheel when Pietro deliberately spread his legs wider, letting the AC hit his still-damp crotch. The cab smelled like sex and spilled beer, the pine air freshener now dangling limp from the rearview mirror.
Highway billboards flickered past — ads for steakhouse specials and urgent care centers — their neon reflections sliding over Briggs’ knuckles where they gripped the gearshift. Pietro watched a bead of sweat trail down the man’s temple, resisting the urge to lick it off. Instead, he rolled down his window, letting the swampy evening air mix with the AC’s chill. The rush of wind couldn’t drown out the wet sound every time Briggs adjusted his grip, his palm still slick from where he’d wiped Pietro’s cum off his abs.
Briggs took a curve too fast, making the truck’s suspension groan. Pietro’s bare shoulder slammed against the door panel, hissing through his teeth at the sting. "Easy, cowboy," he drawled, but Briggs just shot him a glare that burned hotter than the asphalt radiating heat through the floorboards. The silence stretched, broken only by the radio’s static — some AM preacher railing about hellfire between bursts of white noise. Briggs reached over suddenly, his calloused fingers brushing Pietro’s inner thigh where the beard burn was starting to welt.
Pine trees blurred past the windows, their shadows slicing across Briggs’ clenched jaw. He didn’t remove his hand — just let it rest there, thumb tracing idle circles that made Pietro’s spent cock twitch. A road sign announced their exit in two miles, the reflective letters glowing under the truck’s high beams. Pietro swallowed hard. He could smell himself on Briggs’ fingers, could feel the man’s pulse jumping where their skin touched.
The truck slowed for a yellow light, brakes squealing. Briggs’ fingers dug in suddenly, gripping Pietro’s thigh hard enough to leave crescent marks. “You better not fucking move when we get inside,” he muttered, eyes fixed straight ahead. The streetlight bathed his profile in sulfurous gold, catching the sweat still gleaming at his hairline. His cock stirred visibly against his zipper, thick even half-hard.
Pietro smirked and spread his legs wider, letting Briggs see the mess between them — the cum drying tacky on his stomach, the way his hole still glistened when he shifted. “Or what?” he taunted, dragging a finger through the mess on his abs. The taste of salt and Briggs’ spit flooded his mouth when he sucked it clean. “Are you gonna tie me down? Make me behave?”
Briggs’ knuckles whitened on the gearshift. The truck lurched forward when the light turned green, tires spinning on gravel before catching asphalt. He didn’t answer — just cranked the AC higher until the vents hissed, the cold air raising goosebumps on Pietro’s sweat-slick skin. Neon signs blurred past the fogged windows: a liquor store, a pawn shop, the flickering vacancy sign of a motel with hourly rates.
Pietro traced idle circles on his own thigh, watching Briggs’ throat work every time they hit a pothole and his cock visibly twitched in his jeans. The echo of their fucking still lingered in the cab’s charged silence — the scent of sex stubborn under the pine freshener’s chemical assault. Road vibrations traveled up through the floorboards, making Pietro’s overstimulated nerves hum.
Briggs took a hard left onto a residential street lined with sagging chain-link fences, the truck’s headlights catching a stray dog loping past a dumpster. His fingers flexed on the wheel when Pietro stretched deliberately, letting the seatbelt dig into his bare chest. "Stop it," Briggs gritted out, but his gaze dropped to Pietro’s nipple where the belt bisected it.
The truck lurched over a pothole, suspension groaning. Pietro hissed as the jolt sent a fresh throb through his ass. Briggs’ cum was starting to leak, warm and sticky down his thigh. He wiped his fingers on the seatbelt, grinning when Briggs’ nostrils flared at the scent. "Got any more of those napkins?" Pietro asked, voice dripping false innocence.
Briggs swerved past a slow-moving minivan, knuckles white on the wheel. "Glovebox," he muttered. His thighs tensed when Pietro leaned across him, bare chest brushing the gearshift. The compartment popped open to reveal a jumble of receipts and a half-empty tube of antifungal cream. Pietro snorted, holding up the tube. "Is this why your dick tastes like a CVS?"
The truck's suspension bottomed out as Briggs hit a pothole at forty, sending Pietro's forehead smacking into the windshield. "For fuck's sake," he groaned, rubbing the spot as Briggs accelerated toward a railroad crossing. The warning lights started flashing just as their tires hit the tracks — Pietro braced himself against the dash as they went airborne for a heartbeat, Briggs' coffee mug exploding against the rear window in a spray of stale droplets.
Pietro wiped condensation from the side window with his forearm, watching strip malls blur into residential streets. Briggs' neighborhood had that postwar working-class vibe — squat bungalows with aluminum awnings, pickups on cinderblocks in driveways. The truck swerved into a driveway so abruptly Pietro's teeth clacked together. Briggs killed the engine with a jerk of his wrist, the sudden silence ringing in their ears except for the tick of cooling metal.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
