Body Work #2
Elliot’s face bloomed with a sudden, furious heat.
Without even thinking, his hands darted down to his lap to cover his front pouch as Sam turned to eye him again.
But as his fingers brushed the thin white cotton, a sharp jolt of awareness shot up his spine.
He wasn't just exposed; he was half-hard.
A distinct, unmistakable tent had formed in the fabric, the faint but undeniable outline of his penis-head pressing taut against the soft and thin designer cotton.
He swallowed hard, keeping his hands clamped over his underwear, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He was mortified.
But beneath the burning embarrassment, a darker, far more dangerous thrill twisted in his gut.
Part of him—the part that had quietly stared at Sam’s massive bulge back on the side of the highway—liked the idea that the rugged, hypermasculine tow-truck driver might have seen him hard and perhaps even liked what he saw.
Elliot stole a glance at Sam from beneath his lashes, wondering if the older man was anywhere near as curious as he was.
They didn't say much after that. But the silence in the cab was heavy with plenty of dirty thoughts.
The radio crackled in and out of reception, drifting between lively Mexican mariachi brass and the fiery, echoing sermons of a church-over-the-radio broadcast.
On the dashboard, a plastic hula-dancer shook her hips rhythmically with every bump in the hard asphalt.
Elliot turned his head, watching the expansive, brutal nothingness of the canyons and the ancient, sunbaked lands surrounding the Hoover Dam roll by.
Finally, the quiet became too much for the nineteen-year-old.
He shifted in his seat, dropping his hands slightly.
"You know… you saved my ass out there. You do know that, don't you?" Elliot said, his voice a little hoarse. "I was starting to get seriously thirsty. I don't know how much longer I'd have lasted in that heat."
Sam didn't look away from the road, just gave a slow, measured nod. "Don't mention it. Comes with the turf." He reached over, his rough knuckles briefly brushing Elliot's bare knee. "I wish you'd have said something earlier. Check that latch under the glove box."
Elliot reached down, popping open a small, custom-built compartment. Inside was a mini-fridge stocked with ice-cold Gatorade, sodas and water. He pulled out a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and began to chug it like he’d been lost in the Sahara for a week.
Sam laughed, a rich, deep sound that made the cab feel suddenly smaller. "Hey, slow down, boy. Don't chug it all in one go or you're gonna make yourself sick."
Elliot ignored him, draining the bottle until the plastic crinkled in his grip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, letting out a satisfied gasp.
"Okay, now I really owe you," he said, looking at Sam with wide, earnest brown eyes. "Seriously. Anything you want."
The words hung in the air, dripping with an unintentional, sultry weight.
Sam’s smile faded just a fraction, his jaw working as his eyes flicked down to Elliot’s lips, then back to the road.
"Don't go writing checks you're not ready to cash," Sam said, his voice dropping an octave. "You still don't know how much these car repairs are going to cost you."
Elliot visibly shrank, sliding down slightly into the vinyl seat. The reminder of his empty bank account brought reality crashing back in.
Sam must have seen the panic flash across the boy’s face, because his expression softened.
"Hey," Sam said quietly. "I'm going to go real easy on you. I can see you're in a tough spot. That car back there isn't exactly a Ferrari."
That was all the opening Elliot needed.
“I’m just trying to get home,” he said, the words spilling out faster than he could stop them.
“I’m a sophomore in Los Angeles, and I’m completely broke.
Like, actually broke. I couldn’t afford to stay off campus for the summer, and there was no way I could pay for a plane ticket back to Tennessee, so… ”
He gave a helpless little shrug.
“So I’m driving this beat-up ’95 Toyota across the country on a wing and a prayer, I guess,” A pathetic laugh escaped him. “It doesn’t even have air-conditioning.”
“I’ll take a look at that for you, too,” Sam offered smoothly.
“You know, you’re probably lucky the car died where it did—before you ended up on that long stretch of I-40 with no A/C and no help for miles.
Highway 93 is short, at least, and there’s usually somebody passing through.
Guess you were just unlucky it took me so long to find you. ”
"Sam, seriously, thank you so much?—"
"Enough of the 'thank yous'," Sam interrupted gently, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Don't worry about it. I've got you."
A few miles later, the tow truck pulled into a dusty lot. The mechanic shop was a small, well-kept stucco building, surprisingly neat for being in the middle of nowhere.
A few large cacti sat in heavy terracotta pots out front, surrounded by clean xeriscape rock landscaping. Tucked just behind the shop sat a quaint, thousand-square-foot house with a cute, inviting front porch.
Stepping out of the truck and feeling the hot gravel under his bare feet, Elliot let out a long sigh of relief.
He felt strangely comforted here. Grounded. Being around Sam made him feel tethered to the earth in the best way possible, even if he couldn't quite understand why.
Sam ushered him into the small, air-conditioned waiting room of the shop, tossing Elliot a clean set of blue mechanic's coveralls from a locker so he wouldn't have to sit in his underwear.
Elliot zipped them up halfway, passing the time flipping blindly through ancient car magazines.
Mostly, he was just thinking about Sam. About the broadness of his chest, the mesmerizing stare of his eyes, and the quiet, dominating strength he possessed.
Elliot hated how much he had to admit he was attracted to the man.
He wanted to be attracted to girls—not guys.
Thirty minutes later, the door swung open and Sam walked in, wiping grease from his hands with a red rag.
"Well, there’s good news and bad news," Sam announced, leaning against the doorframe.
"The car can be fixed without me having to order any new parts. Bad news is, it’s going to take me a solid block of hours.
Probably all-day tomorrow. But I can get you road-ready by tomorrow afternoon or the next day at the latest."
“What’s wrong with it?” Elliot asked, as though he’d know whether the mechanic’s diagnosis made any sense. The man could have made up half the words, and Elliot would have taken them as gospel. He knew absolutely nothing about what went on beneath the hood of his old Toyota.
The man continued. “Well, the radiator’s clogged,” Sam said, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’ll have to rod it out, and flush the whole system.”
“Rod it… out?” Elliot said, his dirty thoughts catching on the words.
His gaze lingered on Elliot’s a second too long.
“Yeah. Got to shove a rod into that tight little hole until it’s all cleaned out,” Sam said.
Elliot couldn’t tell whether Sam was enjoying the sexual double meaning or merely oblivious to it. Any remaining doubt vanished when he continued. “I can do it now, but it’ll leave me dirty and sweaty all night—and I usually prefer to save that for the bedroom.”
“Oh, uh, definitely. I know what you mean. Me too…” Elliot bit his lip and glanced down, checking that the overalls concealed his growing erection better than his underwear had.
“I’m just joking around, of course,” Sam assured.
Elliot ran a hand through his dirty-blonde curls. "Well… thanks for everything you’re doing. I don’t know what to say, but I’m glad it can get fixed at all,” the teen said.
“Don’t worry about it,” the mechanic grinned.
Elliot felt his anxieties rising again. “Damn… overnight, though? Is there a hotel around here? Somewhere I can walk to? I don’t even know where I am…"
“We’re in Searchlight,” Sam said. “Not much here. Boulder City’s about an hour away. There’s a lot more up there, but it’s gonna’ be a long drive there and back.”
“So, is there, like, a Holiday Inn Express or something around here?” Elliot asked.
“Not exactly, no,” Sam said with a chuckle. “Not for many miles.” He paused, his dark eyes locking onto Elliot’s. “Look, I’ve got a spare bedroom in my house right back here,” he gestured. “And a comfortable sofa. You can crash with me if you like.”
A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of Sam’s mouth. “I never make this kind of offer, but you seem harmless enough.”
Elliot hesitated. A flicker of survival instinct flared in the back of his mind. Is this a mistake? he wondered. Is he planning something sinister? He was, after all, stranded in the desert with a towering, rugged stranger.
But as he looked at Sam, the fear dissolved, replaced by a heavy, intoxicating warmth. Sam made him feel safe. He made him feel confident—something Elliot hadn't felt in high school, and certainly hadn't felt in college.
"Yeah," Elliot breathed, his heart skipping a beat. "I'd really appreciate that. Thank you."
“Are you hungry? There’s a few donuts left on the table over there,” Sam said. “Sorry I forgot to mention that earlier. They’re not fresh, but they aren’t bad, either.”
“What kind?” Elliot asked.
“Mostly cream-filled. Do you… like ‘em cream-filled?” Sam asked.
“Do I like them… wait… what?” Elliot stammered, feeling a tingle in the base of his dick.
Sam grinned curiously, dragged a hand through his hair, and exhaled. Elliot wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but he knew it had to mean something.
Even if his mind didn’t understand, his body sure did. He felt it between his legs and even felt his asshole pucker.
"I'll be right back,” Sam then said. “Let me lock up the garage, and I'll walk you back to the house," he added, before disappearing back into the shop.
Alone in the waiting room, Elliot pulled the zipper of the coveralls up a little higher, his skin warm with an electric anticipation.