Chapter 7
Stroud pushed the Bronco past sixty on the straightaway, then sixty-five, the engine knocking as the speedometer crept toward seventy.
Yuji watched the side mirror. The brown wall behind them wasn’t shrinking—the dark core had thickened, swallowing the Funeral Mountains ridge by ridge until only the nearest foothills showed.
Wind buffeted the cab in gusts that made the steering wheel twitch under Stroud’s hands.
“It’s gaining,” Yuji said.
“I know.” Stroud’s jaw was set, eyes fixed on the road. The needle touched seventy-two and the whole frame shuddered.
They held that speed for three miles, four, the engine screaming and the distance closing.
In the mirror, the wall had become a rolling cliff face the color of dried blood, and it was moving faster than they were.
The first grains of sand ticked against the windshield.
Stroud leaned forward, both hands fixed hard on the wheel.
“Hold on.” Stroud backed off the gas, scanning. A gravel pullout appeared on the right—maintenance staging area, nothing but compacted fill and a faded reflector post. He cut the wheel hard, brought the Bronco around in a tight arc.
He killed the engine.
“What are you?—”
“Can’t run through that. Dust gets in the intake, clogs the filter, wrecks the engine.” Stroud checked the windows, twisted the AC vents closed. “We button up and wait. Storm passes, we drive out. Storm stalls—” He shrugged. “We wait longer.”
The cab was already warming, engine heat radiating through the firewall. Yuji watched the brown wall fill the side mirror, blotting out the road behind them.
One moment there was sky—milky, recognizable. The next, the windshield became static. Sand drove sideways across the glass with the dry scrape of sandpaper. The Bronco rocked on its suspension, and the hood vanished from sight.
“Button up tight, we’re fine. Cab’s got good seals.” He settled back against the door, one arm along the window frame, watching Yuji in the dim brown light.
The wind screamed against the Bronco’s flank. Grit hissed against glass. The world had shrunk to the bench seat and the narrow space between them.
Dust swirled in fractal patterns against the windshield, each gust revealing new currents. Sweat prickled under Yuji’s collar, and he tugged his field jacket open.
Stroud hadn’t moved. He took up the left third of the bench, sprawled the way a man sits when he’s at home—knee cocked, shoulder against the door.
“You’re thinking about last night,” Stroud said.
Yuji stopped fidgeting. “I wasn’t?—”
“You were. Same way you’ve been thinking about it all morning. Way you wouldn’t look at me.”
The brown outside the windshield deepened, lightened, deepened again with each gust.
“I shouldn’t have?—”
“Stop.” He held up a hand. “I’m not looking for an apology. Just listen.”
The wind dropped and rose again. The Bronco shuddered.
Yuji nodded. “Tell me.”
Stroud dragged his fingers across his jaw. The gesture gave him somewhere to look that wasn’t Yuji.
“Summer I turned twenty-three, Raymond Weiss came back to town. His mother was sick. He picked up fence work for my uncle while he took care of her.” Stroud watched the swirling nothing beyond the windshield.
“We’d known each other a little, back in school.
His truck was in the shop that whole June, so I started driving him home after work.
Short rides. Radio on. He was quiet. Patient. Easy to be around.”
Dust scoured the glass.
“One night we worked late. I pulled up to his place and he didn’t get out. Just sat there a minute, then asked if I wanted to come in. Said he’d made chili.” Stroud’s voice dropped. “I looked straight ahead and told him no. He didn’t push. Just got out and went inside.”
The storm pressed against the windows.
“I’ve carried that moment half my life—the thing I almost did and didn’t.” He paused. “His mother passed that winter. He went back to Portland and I never saw him again.”
The storm filled the silence between them.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Stroud turned his head. His eyes found Yuji’s in the brown half-light.
Yuji’s pulse beat in his throat. The cab felt smaller than it had a minute ago.
“I don’t know what this is,” Stroud said. “But it’s not nothing.”
Wind pressed against the cab, rocking it on its suspension. Yuji reached across the gearshift.
His palm found Stroud’s thigh—solid muscle under sun-faded canvas. Stroud inhaled sharp through his nose, then pressed Yuji’s hand against his leg.
Stroud’s other hand found the back of Yuji’s neck, fingers sliding through hair that had come loose from its tie. He pulled Yuji forward and kissed him—mouth open, tongue finding Yuji’s. Yuji fisted Stroud’s shirt, leaning in until the gearshift dug into his thigh.
Stroud broke the kiss long enough to guide Yuji across the gearshift, onto his lap, knees bracketing Stroud’s hips on the worn bench seat. The position put Yuji above him, looking down at stubble and sun lines. Stroud’s hands slid up under Yuji’s shirt, palms hot on bare skin.
Yuji pulled his shirt open down the front, dust-light painting his skin amber. Stroud’s hands found him—collarbones, chest, the curve of his waist—taking his time. His hips shifted, pressing his bulge up against Yuji.
Yuji ground down against him, drawing an exhale through Stroud’s teeth as he worked the shirt buttons open. Silver threaded the hair on Stroud’s chest, the muscle underneath shifting with each breath. Yuji dragged his thumb over one hard nipple, then bent and closed his mouth around it.
Stroud groaned deep in his chest, hips bucking up.
His hands went to Yuji’s hair, holding him there.
Yuji circled the nipple with his tongue, sucked it gently, then harder when Stroud started breathing through his mouth.
He moved to the other, teeth grazing before his tongue followed, the taste of salt and sweat filling his mouth.
Under him, Stroud’s cock was a thick ridge pressing against the seam of his pants.
“Let me.” Yuji sat back, fingers going to Stroud’s belt. Stroud’s hands fell away.
Belt. Button. Zipper. Stroud lifted his hips. Yuji dragged pants and briefs down to mid-thigh. His cock sprang free, already wet at the tip. Yuji wrapped his hand around the base and stroked upward—a full stroke before his fist reached the head. Stroud’s whole body tightened.
“Fuck—” Stroud’s hips twitched. “Don’t stop.”
Yuji stroked again, thumb spreading precum at the slit. He slid off Stroud’s lap, down into the footwell between his knees, floor mat rough against his shins. Stroud looked down—chest heaving, cock in Yuji’s hand.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I know I don’t have to.” Yuji held his gaze. “I want your cock in my mouth.”
He lowered his head.
Salty precum hit his tongue, and his own cock jerked in his pants.
He took the head between his lips and sucked, tongue working the underside while his hand stroked the shaft.
Stroud’s thighs tensed on either side of his shoulders.
He groaned, low in his chest, hand finding the back of Yuji’s head, fingers threading through loose hair.
“Yuji—god?—”
He took more. Worked his mouth down until his lips met his fist, then pulled back slow, letting suction do the work. Stroud’s hips twitched, fighting the urge to thrust. His grip in Yuji’s hair tightened, loosened, tightened again.
“That’s—fuck, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”
Yuji didn’t stop. He found a rhythm—hand and mouth together, base to tip—and let Stroud’s moans guide him deeper, faster.
The Bronco rocked with the wind while grit scraped the windows.
Yuji hollowed his cheeks and swallowed Stroud’s cock until his nose brushed coarse hair and Stroud’s groan filled the cab.
He pulled back, let saliva and precum drip down the shaft, then took him deep again.
His free hand found Stroud’s balls, cupped them, rolled them gently while his mouth worked.
Stroud’s thighs were shaking now, stomach muscles tight.
Yuji could feel him swelling harder against his tongue, getting close.
“I’m close.” Stroud’s hand gripped Yuji’s shoulder. “Fuck, I’m?—”
Yuji pulled back just enough to catch a breath, then sank down again, taking him all the way.
Stroud’s hand tightened in his hair. His hips snapped up, driving deep, and Yuji gagged once before his throat opened.
Stroud fucked into his mouth—three hard thrusts, four—grunting with each one, gripping Yuji’s hair.
Then his whole body went rigid, cock pulsing against Yuji’s tongue as he came.
Cum flooded Yuji’s mouth—thick, salty, more than he could swallow.
He tried to take it all, throat working, but Stroud kept coming, pulse after pulse filling his mouth until cum spilled from the corners of his lips and ran down the shaft.
He swallowed what he could, kept swallowing, working Stroud through it until the pulses finally slowed and Stroud sagged back against the seat, chest heaving.
Yuji sat back on his heels, spit and cum dripping down his chin. His own cock ached, trapped in his pants. Stroud looked down at him, wonder in his face.
“Come here.”
Yuji climbed back onto the bench seat. Stroud pulled him close, tongue pushing into Yuji’s mouth, tasting himself. The kiss was slower now. Stroud’s hand slid down Yuji’s belly, worked his belt open, pushed past the waistband of his briefs.
Stroud reached down and dragged his palm through the cum dribbling down his cock, then wrapped his fist around Yuji—wet and warm, grip firm. Yuji moaned into his mouth.
Stroud stroked him slow, his own cum easing every pass. Yuji’s hips jerked, trying to thrust into his fist, but Stroud kept the pace steady, unhurried. His free hand gripped Yuji’s hip, holding him still.
“I’ve got you.”
Yuji buried his face in Stroud’s neck. Stroud’s thumb circled the head of his cock, spreading his cum and Yuji’s precum, mixing thick and warm, every stroke frictionless. Yuji’s knees dug into the bench seat, bracing.
Stroud tightened his grip, picked up the pace, fist pumping steadily. Yuji’s balls drew up tight. His breath came in gasps against Stroud’s neck.
“Look at me.”
Yuji lifted his head. Stroud’s eyes held his—blue-gray in the storm light, steady even as his hand worked.
“Come for me.”
Yuji came, moaning into Stroud’s neck, cock jerking and spilling over Stroud’s knuckles in hot pulses. His whole body shook. Stroud kept stroking, hand slick with cum now, until Yuji sagged against his chest.
The haboob still roared against the cab. Yuji’s face was pressed to Stroud’s bare chest, heartbeat thudding against his cheek.
Stroud’s clean hand found his hair, stroked it back from his damp forehead. Tender.
“Napkins in the glove box,” Stroud said.
Yuji laughed—the practicality of it after everything else. He peeled himself off Stroud’s chest and fumbled the glove box open. Fast-food napkins, a small stack, and alcohol wipes from an old first-aid kit. He handed half to Stroud and cleaned himself with the rest.
Sex and dust hung thick in the close air. Yuji’s shirt lay crumpled against the passenger door. Stroud’s pants were still around his thighs. They looked like exactly what they were—two men who’d just gotten each other off in a truck during a dust storm.
Stroud tugged his pants up and buckled his belt. Then he pulled Yuji close again, his arm around Yuji’s shoulders.
“Come to bed with me tonight.” Stroud’s fingers traced slow circles on Yuji’s upper arm. “I want you there.”
Dust thinned beyond the windshield. Shapes resolved—the reflector post, the edge of the road.
Yuji turned his face up. Stroud’s profile was sharp in the returning light—jaw set, crow’s feet deep at the corners of his eyes.
“Okay.”
Stroud drew him closer against his side.