Thread the Needle
It was the morning after, and the kid was walking funny.
A subtle hitch in his step as he carried a battery. A slight wince when he bent over to pick up a dropped socket. I watched him from across the shop, a slow, deep satisfaction warming my chest. I did that. Last night’s lesson had been very thorough indeed as I showed him what I could do, even if I didn’t end up getting him pregnant technically. He was sure as hell walking around like I did.
The first time I took it easy on him. We were like teenagers. I fucked him in my truck in my driveway at his own doing. The little horndog had tackled me in my truck – ten-minute delay my ass. He beat me there, and jumped into my truck and pounced on me, whipping my jeans open and straddling me, taking my workday cock after teasing me over the encounter with whatever the fuck her name was. He took me so easily I didn’t last long at the surprise and thrill of it all, right there in my fucking driveway.
The second time maybe went a little too fast too, as I followed his trail of clothes to my bathroom, pinning him into the shower, me forgetting to take off most of my clothes before I nabbed him. He laughed hard as we peeled my wet clothes off, showering together, ridding the smell of the shop off our bodies. But when he wiggled that firm, hard ass at me, teasing me again with his hungry kisses, I just slid right back in and pounded that tight hard muscular quarterback ass up against my shower wall. “Caught ya.” I had whispered into his ear as I blasted my second load up his tunnel.
The third? I really let him have it for that “seeing someone else” comment. We had dried each other off and he started kissing me again, the little horny stud. So, I lifted him up, showing him exactly who was boss and carried him to my bed, sprawling his glorious body out on my bed face down, and I gave him what he wanted. I was pile driving his ass so hard he came without touching himself as I towered over him, hearing every moan and grunt as an invitation to fuck him harder. I knew he was loving it.
The fourth time I really showed him just how gay I truly was for him. We had laid there for a bit, regaining our strength, until he started tickling me, finding that spot on my neck and I rolled him over, moving into him missionary, telling him that this, THIS was the position to truly get someone pregnant. I fucked him deep and long, slowly using my hips, until he watched me jerk his own cock for him, watching him spill his big load all over his beautiful body and he was begging for me to cum in him. I loved every second of that gloriously deep pounding. We were a ball of sweat, and I thought I was done with him for the night.
We made dinner, dressed only in our jeans and tees, barefoot. We ate on the couch, his legs on mine, his feet in my hands as I massaged them, sitting there on the couch afterwards when he dared me again. He made a crack about me giving up after four times. Teased me that I didn’t have it in me after all to beat my record. I admit, it was a challenge. But he dared me. And I never turn down a dare.
So that fifth time, I wanted to prove to him I could do more. He was surprised at how quickly I got hard. And then he was sorry. I didn’t hold back. I literally had him by the feet. I told him if I fucked him again, I was going to do it in every room of my house so he would remember it always.
Try me, he had said.
We christened every fucking spot I could think of in my house.
I got him going by making him laugh uncontrollably with his feet in my hands. Getting him giggling as I started sucking back his toes, turning into an all-out tickling moment, until I pulled him off the couch and yanked his jeans right off him, followed by pulling his shirt right over his head. I stepped out of my own clothes as he recovered from his laughing fit before I pulled him up off the floor and pushed his face against the glass of the front window, where he could look at our trucks in the driveway as I slid into that insatiable ass of his from behind. He fogged up the glass as I nailed him from behind, grabbing hold of that tight waist of his. When he gave me that sexy as hell look over his shoulder, that one that shows me how much he loves it, I withdrew and grabbed his wrist to bring him to the kitchen, bending down to lift his slighter smaller body up onto the kitchen table, on his back, and I slid right back in to the sounds of him groaning. He held his own muscled legs apart as I rested my hands on his bare feet, resisting the urge to tickle them again as I fucked him, shaking my head in disbelief that he was the only feast I wanted on this table from now on.
When I saw the look wash over him again when his head began to loll from side to side, I pulled out again, much to his displeasure and hoisted him onto my shoulder, fireman style, and turned around to the back of the kitchen and kicked open the door to my basement, carrying the screaming quarterback down the stairs to my unfinished basement and set him back down on my large white freezer and reinserted myself into him there, in the dark, the sound of the furnace going beside us.
His moans echoed, but I was concentrating on showing him what I was made of. I wasn’t holding back, and really let him have it, punching my greased stick so far up that tight muscled ass his pecs were bouncing.
I offered him a hand to help him down, my hard cock bobbing out of him and I flung him back over my shoulder and carried him back up the stairs, with a little less finesse than I hoped. I wouldn’t admit it, but he was wearing me out.
I put him down in the hallway between my bedroom and the bathroom and pounded him briefly up against the wall from behind in a surprise attack, grabbing his cock in my hand and just holding it tight, not letting him jerk it as I drilled his ass like a horny bear, all fast thrusts and grunts and growls.
But it was him that pulled away, turning to take my hand and guided me back to the bedroom.
“Okay big guy, finish me off back in here.” He was panting, and sweating, and glistening, and looked more and more fuckable as he eyed me, pulling me back to the bedroom. He kept eye contact as he moved to the side of the bed, flopping backwards, lifting up his own legs again for me, showing me that gaping hole quivering for me to stuff once again. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to eat it or fuck it. I stepped right up, my cock aching for another release, and slid back in, standing over him, grabbing his ankles to hold high up in the air and I let loose.
All those years of holding back washed away. All those times I suppressed my desires were gone. I looked down into those eyes of his, and the way he was grinning, and I fucked the hell out of my man. MY man.
“I fuckin’ love you Troy!” I bellowed out between thrusts and grunts, showing him what I was really made of.
“Yeah? Get me pregnant then you fuckin’ beast!” He hollered back, punching my pecs and grabbing my nipples as he took it like the fucking athlete he was. Even I was surprised at how hard I pounded him. He grabbed his own dick as I roared out that I was going to breed him, and he spurted out a load with me simultaneously. He loved every minute of it. Even managed to squeak out a soft, “I love you Ivan” before I collapsed on top of him, smearing his cum into his skin along with our sweat, panting uncontrollably, slightly afraid I was going to have a heart attack at the full on assault I had just performed. I heard it though, and it made me so fucking happy I almost fucked him again.
But today, unfortunately, he’s paying for his dare.
He caught me looking and blushed, a faint pink creeping up his neck. It was the best thing I’d seen all week.
“Hips sore, Jenkins?” I asked, my voice low enough that only he could hear as I passed him to grab a wrench. “Maybe I should kick your tires a bit more tonight? Maybe go even harder for a sixth inning?”
He shot me a look that was half-annoyance, half-adoration. “You’re a menace, Volkov, with that big wrench of yours, I ain’t letting you anywhere near my tires tonight.”
I just grunted, the sound full of masculine pride. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what you said after the second inspection. And all I had to do was apply more torque and your engine was purring.” This was our new language, I guess. Double meaning. Our private, perfect jokes between us. Unabashed. Free.
And I was loving every one, and feeling the happiest I’ve ever felt.
But the mood in the shop was different. Smitty and Big Ray were buzzing, interrupting our hushed talk, and it wasn't about the carburetor I was rebuilding. I started to worry that we weren’t as discreet as I had thought. Or they were seeing through my sudden happiness and connecting it to Troy’s arrival. I braced myself when Smitty finally approached me.
“So, boss,” Smitty started, not even trying to be subtle. “You really shot Stacy down, huh? What’s wrong with you? She was ready to pop out little Volkovs for you.”
Big Ray chuckled, appearing at Smitty’s side, shaking his head as he wiped his hands on an old rag. “Yeah, Ivan. You’re not getting any younger. The ladies used to be all over you. What happened?”
The question hung in the air as my brain tried to work out a response. It was the same question I’d been asking myself for years, but hearing it out loud, in my own shop, felt like a trap.
“Maybe pretty boy over there is more your speed if you’re turning down that hot blonde?!” They broke out in laughter together, slapping each other on the back at their supposed intelligence.
My hands stilled on the carburetor. My mind went blank. The old scripts I used to use—the grunts, the dismissals—felt flimsy and transparent all of a sudden. What could I say? That they were right? That the very idea of a woman felt like a costume I’d finally taken off? That I really was gay and nailing that pretty boy over there and was so deeply in love with him that I would admit it to those two stupid assholes?
My eyes, almost against my will, flicked to Troy. He was frozen, a fuel line in his hand, watching me. His face was a mask of careful neutrality, but his eyes were wide, screaming a silent warning. He gave a slow, almost imperceptible shake of his head. No. Not like this.
It was as if I could read his thoughts, as if they were my own.
Even though these two dorks were pissing me off, I knew he was right. This wasn't the time or the place. Not with their leering grins, not with the pressure. A confession here, like this, in defense, would be wrong. But after these last few days, of just being with Troy, naked and raw and exposed, I felt suddenly more free and ready to be honest. I was confused to see his eyes waver, but trusted his gaze.
The silence stretched, getting heavier. Smitty’s smirk was starting to falter, replaced by genuine curiosity. I could see the sudden flicker of maybe his comment wasn’t so far off. I had to say something.
I slammed the carburetor down on the bench with a little more force than necessary, making them all jump.
“My love life isn’t your concern. But when we’re ready, we’ll tell you.” I barked, my voice a low growl that brooked no argument. “We’ve got a full bay and a transmission to rebuild. Everyone, back to work. Now.”
The order cut through the tension like a knife. Smitty muttered something and turned away. Big Ray just shrugged his massive shoulders and went back to his tire. The immediate threat was over. Just like I used to do. I saw Troy’s eyes widen in shock at my sudden shift in anger and armour.
The confession was on the tip of my tongue, and it seemed to linger there, teasing me, testing me, making me feel that I was truly ready to end this secrecy and come clean. Even that felt good. More so when I saw Troy go to sit down and he did it so tentatively I actually felt sorry for him.
But then I remembered, he asked for it. A slow smirk came over my face as I went back to work, especially when I realized that I had said when “we’re ready, we’ll tell you.” I was no longer alone. There was a ‘we’ now.
The rest of the day was a tense, quiet one though. The easy teasing was gone. I could feel Troy’s anxious glances, but I kept my head down, my focus on the work. The fear was back, a cold knot in my stomach. How long could we keep this up?
At the end of the night, as Troy was shrugging on his jacket, I cornered him by the tool crib, out of earshot.
“Today…” I started, but the words failed me.
He looked up at me, his expression serious but calm. He reached out and squeezed my arm, a quick, firm press on my bicep.
“We’ll talk about it tonight, at home,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “All of it. And whatever we decide to do,” he added, his eyes locking with mine, “we’ll do it together.”
Home. Together. We.
The words were exactly what I needed to hear from him, a confirmation that we were a we after all, despite my doubts. It didn’t make the problem go away, but it meant I really wouldn’t have to face it alone. I was right, we were a ‘we.’ I gave a single, sharp nod.
“Together,” I agreed. “At home.”
He smiled, a small, determined thing, like he realized what he said. I hadn’t officially asked him to move in. But I had given him a key. I was just glad he thought of it like his home as much as I wanted him to think that.
Then he headed out into the twilight first like he always did, leaving me in the quiet shop for a few minutes before I joined him at my place. For the first time all day though, I could breathe. The problem was still there, looming. But it was ours now. Not just mine.
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