Max hadn’t said anything for forty-fifty miles and Remy was starting to feel the silence clawing up under his skin. He made a poker joke and Max shot him a glare so withering that he let another fifty miles go by.
They drove out for the Louisville poker semi-final and Max hadn’t done well. No worry, Remy had said, there were always other tournaments. Max didn’t quite agree. The loss was boiling up inside him and he was taking it out on the road. Remy was his booking agent and coach, a gambling man himself, but Max’s driving made him nervous.
“Look, M. I know you’re pissed, but —”
Max turned up the radio without looking at him. Remy had had enough. He turned the radio off decisively.
“What the fuck, Max!?”
“Shut up, Remy. I’m just not in the mood to fucking talk.”
“Then how about you pull over until you are, or maybe stop driving like a psychopath.”
Max looked over, his lips tight together and his brown eyes drawn up into slits. He looked back at the road, still angry, clearly, but slowing down. Eventually the car rolled to a stop.
“It’s just one tournament, Max. The big one’s next month, just focus on that.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what to focus on,” Max shot back.
“Then stop acting like you do.”
The two of them were quiet then. They sat idling on the highway’s shoulder and no one passed them. Eventually Max spoke. “I don’t like disappointing people. If feels…shitty.”
“I’m not disappointed, M. This is hard, I told you that when you first started. Yes, there’s luck, yes, there’s skill, and then there are bad fucking days. It didn’t go your way, just focus on the next one.”
Max looked over at Remy, his long lashes slightly feminized the square angles of his face. His Native-American ancestry gave a copper-ish cast to his skin that had a subtle warmth, even in the dark. He was a good looking kid, Remy had to give him that. Remy wanted to give him other things too, but he had to let the kid make the moves. He had a temper and he spooked easy.
“You know what would make me feel better?” Max asked.
“A tootsie pop? A blow job? I’m not a mind reader, M.”
Max raised a bushy eyebrow. “Are blow jobs on the table?”
Remy’s heart skipped. He chose his words carefully. “Stop fucking with me. If you wanted a guy to suck your dick it would have happened by now. You’re hot.”
“Hot? You think so? I’ve never had a gay guy tell me that before.”
Probably because they’re scared you’ll beat the shit out of them, Remy thought. Max was bulky with muscle, even his neck was thick with it. Almost all of his clothes looked painted on when he wore them. It looked like tree trunks were growing out of the legs of his shorts. Once Remy started looking at his legs though it was a short trip to his groin…
“Are you checking out my junk, Remy?”
“No. I mean, I was just—”
“It’s ok. I’m not mad, just…I didn’t realize you were—you know—into me.”
Remy didn’t answer that. He waited for something to happen, but didn’t feel comfortable making it happen himself. Whichever way this went, he’d need to work with Max for the next few months. He didn’t want things to be awkward for all that time.
“I once had a threesome with my girlfriend and another guy. It was…weird, but not, bad, you know?” Max was contemplative for a moment. Then he said, “I think I could let a guy blow me.”
“Max. Look, I just want to make sure this isn’t going to be weird between us. We have a professional relationship. That’s gotta’ come first.”
“I thought I had to come first,” Max said, smirking for the first time in a hundred miles. He hooked a thumb in the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down a half-inch, teasing. “Only if you want though…”
Max has a girlfriend, Remy thought as he moved across the seat. I’ve met her, she’s nice, as he pulled down Max’s shorts revealing the thick, uncut cock within. I can’t think about that, he told himself as he touched it and smelled the musky scent of his protégé. His mouth watered and he lowered himself to it.
“Ah,” Max said, as Remy started sliding down on his dick. “Keep going.”
I’m going to hell, Remy thought, but he still crammed his mouth and throat full of Max. The smell of him alone drove Remy crazy, it was masculine and rich. There was just a hint of sweat to it. Even as his gag reflex threatened to kick in, Remy persisted.
“Your mouth is hot, dude. You probably do this a lot, right? Suck dick in cars? Fuck, blow me.”
Max put his hand on the back of Remy’s hand and pressed down. Not hard, but hard enough. Remy didn’t want to relent anyway. He sucked fast and used his hands consistently to maximize Max’s pleasure. He wanted to get Max off quickly because a part of his mind told him that at any moment, the poker star was going to come to his senses and push him away.
“Keep going. Fuck, do you want it? My load, do you want it?”
Remy did. He made a noise that said he did. He didn’t stop, which meant he did.
Max hissed and hit the car’s horn and pressed himself back in the seat as he came. The horn screamed into the night and Remy swallowed as quickly as Max could cum. When it was over and quiet again, Remy sat up and coughed a few times. Max took a deep breath.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Yeah,” Remy said.
Max started the car, his dick still wet and hard, hanging out of his short.
“Fuck,” Remy said.