The bike was just like Joe—it lacked all middle gears. One moment they were idling at the kerb, the next, they were speeding headlong down the street. Suddenly, Scott wasn’t just clutching around Joe for the chance to grope him. He clawed at Joe’s leather jacket with his fingernails. The small part of his brain that wasn’t praying they got to wherever they were going in one piece, hoped like hell that he didn’t rip the leather in his panic.
Joe threw them along a tight, winding route, faster and faster. Pressed tightly against Joe’s back, Scott had little choice but to lean into the corners with Joe—to follow Joe’s lead, and hope like hell that was what a pillion passenger was supposed to do.
He closed his eyes and desperately tried to think of something other than how close the ground came to their knees every time they wavered from a perfectly straight line. Something like how bloody wonderful it felt to be pressed up against Joe that tightly.
The vibrations from the engine rolled up through Scott’s body as he gradually managed to relax just a few of his muscles. His shaft throbbed inside his jeans. Every time either of them moved, Scott’s cock rubbed against Joe’s arse through their clothes, tempting him to imagine what it would be like if Joe ever allowed him to top.
Behind his helmet, Scott bit the inside of his cheek in an effort not to add his own groans of pleasure to the noise of the engine.
Finally, Joe brought the bike to a halt. The sudden silence made Scott’s ears ring. The vibrations stopped, but Scott’s body still trembled with the echoes of them. He was vaguely aware that time was passing, but he had no idea how long he sat there, clinging to Joe like a helmet-wearing limpet.
Joe shrugged his shoulders until Scott eventually managed to let go. Dismounting with practiced ease, Joe tugged off his helmet and turned to face Scott.
Scott didn’t try to follow Joe’s example and get off the bike. He wasn’t sure his legs would support him. He reached for the strap on the helmet instead. His fingers wouldn’t work. Panic at being stuck forever bubbled up inside Scott.
Joe stepped forward and unceremoniously pushed Scott’s hands aside. He soon had the helmet off.
Shaking his head, Scott reached up and rubbed his hands through his hair. Joe looked tousled and gorgeous, but Scott suspected that he looked more like a bedraggled hedgehog in comparison.
“First time?” Joe asked.
Scott managed to nod.
“You did fine.”
The praise was so unexpected, Scott could only blink at Joe in shock.
“Come on.” Joe wrapped his arm around Scott’s waist and half lifted and half dragged him off the bike.
Scrambling to raise his trailing leg over the saddle, Scott somehow managed to keep himself upright. For the first time, he looked around, trying to work out where they were. He didn’t have much time to wonder, he was soon too busy hurrying to keep up with Joe’s longer strides as he led the way into the low, shadowy building next to the car park.
Joe dropped some money on the counter just inside the entrance and took both of the keys the man working there offered to him.
Scott hesitated for a split second as he passed the counter, but Joe didn’t order him to stop and get anything and Scott wasn’t inclined to either take the initiative or to let Joe out of his sight.
He followed close on Joe’s heels into some sort of locker room. He peered around the cramped space trying to work out what kind of place they were visiting. There were a few other guys in there, all of them in various stages of undress, just like in a gym changing room. But, somehow, he still got the distinct impression they weren’t going to be doing any kind of conventional work out.
“Scott!”
He turned toward Joe just in time to catch one of the keys when Joe tossed it to him. Scott peered down at the key as if he had no idea what to do with it, which wasn’t actually too far from the truth. He looked up at Joe, tried to read his expression for some clue, and failed completely.
“Take your clothes off. Put them in your locker,” Joe ordered.
“A-all of them?” Scott whispered, stepping closer, so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“All of them,” Joe confirmed.
Scott felt the blood drain from his face at the prospect.
“Except your boots of course,” Joe added.
Scott’s attention dropped to Joe’s feet. He was wearing boots too—black military style ones. As discreetly as possible, Scott peeked at all the other guys’ footwear.
Boots, boots and more boots.
As Scott watched, two men left the changing room, their bare cocks swinging freely with each step, their buttocks bright white compared to the tan covering the rest of their bodies. They’d kept their boots on.
“It’s called a boots only night for a reason.”
