Note: A compilation of Strict Machine story requests I have filled via tumblr. Mostly backstories, but some plotless pieces, too. If you've read Strict, you know what to expect.
This request came specifically from synecdoche. She asked for 'motorcycle porn'. I went with it because she's wonderful, but also because I had standing requests for motorcycle sex from two other people (Palalife and mixture). I wish I could link you to it, but synecdoche also wrote a sexy kiss scene in trade.
Pressure Wash
Charles was hiding in the living area's shade again. The blinds were drawn over the windows and the curtains swept shut until the living area's shade reminded him of a bright light over closed eyelids. The interior was shaded, the central air bathing him with cool, but even without the blistering Arizona sun and heat, he felt oppressed. Alex had suggested he see a doctor for Valley sickness, but Erik had said Charles had never experienced a climate anything like the desert and would need time to acclimate.
Charles didn't want to acclimate. He wanted to stay in the dark and cool and study the dichotomy of Erik's furnace-like body on his AC-chilled flesh. They were in the honeymoon stage of their relationship: still learning about the other's body and having both light-hearted and furious sex. Since pulling the façade from Erik, Charles had gained the most intense lover he'd ever known. His focus was like coal compressed into diamond clarity.
One of the more arousing games he'd discovered was enticing Erik's interest. Seduction came in many forms and if Charles had lost ground, in all the best ways, in bedroom games of dominance, he'd taken it back and more through the sheer power of desire.
Laying in the dark, doing none of the work he ought, Charles listened to the high-pitched screech of the die-grinder as Erik hand-cut intake and exhaust ports in a cylinder head. He knew what Erik looked like, there in his shop. He would have the windows shut up, the exhaust fan at full blast, and he'd be pressing the grinder into the head, sending sparks and metal shavings everywhere.
He'd be hot, of course, since the shop was closed and the AC was useless with the exhaust fan on. Filthy from carbon, bits of metal clinging to his skin, and streaked with cutting oil. Charles smiled at the image; he'd seen it often enough before heat overcame him.
Erik would be wearing his leather apron, gloves, and the utility shorts. His boots, of course, his shooting range headphones, safety glasses, and likely a respiratory. He would be shirtless due to the heat and sweating clean steaks through the accumulated debris.
Filthy. Erik was out in the shop, porting heads, and getting increasingly sweaty and filthy. Charles bit his lip at the image in his head. Conveniently, he stripped the respirator from the image in his mind's eye. Erik certainly needed it, but Charles wanted to imagine the set of Erik's jaw, the firm press of his lips, as he concentrated on the exact nature of his work.
Lying immobile on the couch though he was, not all of Charles' body could remain thus with the images he was working with. Even as a teenager he'd been attracted to Max when he was shirtless under his ridiculous industrial apron. His heart rate picked up and his cock pulsed where it lay against his thigh under his boxers.
Charles huffed a frustrated sigh. The problem was that Erik put work before pleasure. He'd managed to divert Erik a few times the first week he'd stayed there, but Erik recognized the trend and put a swift stop to it. There would be no furious fucking in the shop, especially with all the metal shavings everywhere from porting.
His cock didn't really care, though. The rest of his body might have succumbed to lethargy, but his sexual apparatus conspired with his overactive mind. When not working, sex was all he could think about. And Erik? His body, bad knee or not, was an inspiration: a muse for creative debauchery.
Another pulse of blood fed his cock and, in consequence, led to it moving against the fabric of his shorts. That alone was stimulation; the friction of sensitive flesh on cotton was good, but he wanted more. He wanted Erik, fresh from his shop, hands filthy and hot, leaving carbon hand prints all over Charles' pale skin.
Charles rolled over and groaned into one of the couch's cushions. He jerked his hips and ground his increasingly aroused prick against the yielding cushion below. He made a few more passes almost without being aware. Then quit the second he admitted to himself that, yes, he was really dry humping Erik's couch.
Blowing another irritated sigh, Charles sat up quickly. He could rub one out or he could channel his sexual frustration: it was just that simple. Perhaps he could redirect the energy productively by doing something helpful around the house. Dishes were always washed as they were dirtied, laundry was Alex's chore (though Charles and Erik stripped the bed practically every morning). He didn't like dusting and the windows were all clean.
Half hard cock bouncing against his thigh, Charles walked over to the garage door and turned on the light. Was there anything there that needed cleaning? His gaze swept around the interior: across the floor, along the toolboxes, the machinery that didn't fit in the shop out back, and the tidy row of motorcycles. His eyes settled on the R1. There were a few caked on bugs on the plastics and dust and dirt along the lower edges of the fairings.
"Just as filthy as…" Charles chuckled to himself as the thought crossed his mind. He could wash Erik's favored motorcycle.
As a prelude to sex.
Erik set down the die grinder. Even with the exhaust fan going, he knew it was getting far too hot in the shop. He preferred doing performance work in winter, but that was usually when the local racers needed work finished. In Arizona, riding season was different than it was above the American snowline. Where everyone else in the country rode in the summer months, in Phoenix it was generally too hot.
It was getting on toward noon when the heat would definitely be unbearable, so he unchucked the grinder and replaced it with an air nozzle to blow most of the metal debris from his clothes and skin. It took the bulk off, but the dampness of his skin still held glittering and black points of metal dust and sharp shavings.
Giving it up for a lost cause, he hung up the hose and turned off the air compressor and turned to the shop vac. He kept his shop as meticulously clean as he could, which wasn't immaculate by any stretch of the imagination. After cleaning, he pulled his safety gear off and reorganized his bench.
He was filthy, sweating, and probably reeked. It was the dirt, the fine grit covering his skin, that he found the most annoying. Erik wanted nothing more than a thorough shower to chase the grit from his skin, the metal shavings from his hair, and to dust them from the interior of his unloader brace where they collected and scraped his skin.
Flicking the exhaust fan off, Erik opened the shop door and stepped outside. The heat was bad, but compared to the interior of the shop, it was nearly a relief. His internal temperature, however, spiked ruthlessly the moment he saw Charles.
He'd brought the R1 outside to the concrete veranda, near the outside faucet, along with a bucket of soapy water. Erik was amused to see that Charles had even brought out the rear stand to keep the R1 upright without fear of knocking it over. Erik normally washed the bikes or Tacoma on the front drive, but Charles had never seen him do it, so he supposed it was possible he didn't know better. Charles was too cerebral for common sense.
Charles' pale, freckle-strewn skin was blinding in the sun. There was a lot of it to see with only his swim trunks and mop of hair to shield him from the open sky. All the pale skin caught Erik's interest as only Charles could. It was fortunate his hands were dirty; all the better to leave his mark all over him.
With Charles' back to him, one hand soaping the bike up, while the other gripped the seat to steady his crouch, Erik doubted Charles knew he was coming. Not until his long form clothed Charles' hand in shadow. He didn't say anything since his shadow announced him.
Just as suspected, Charles turned and cast a smile up at him. He was paused in the act of soaping up a black plastic panel and looked all the more pale for it. "I wondered how long it would be until I saw you once I heard the die grinder stop."
"How long was it?" Erik smirked, moving closer, using his body to shelter Charles' easily burned skin from the sun.
"Long enough, I suppose," Charles replied and straightened with both sponge and garden hose in hand.
Erik didn't move, which meant Charles was immediately crowded against him. Charles didn't seem to mind. He turned the light burble of water on Erik's left pectoral, despite his shorts, brace, and boots. A sigh left Erik through his nose, his left nipple tightened with chill; Charles' timing was off.
"You should have waited for me to get undressed," Erik reprimanded softly. The water felt good; cool against his hot skin. It began to erode a strip of sweat and grit and soaked into the black waistband of his shorts and webbed fabric of his belt.
"You can still take everything off," Charles grinned, but angled the trickle of water away again. "We're alone today and your neighbors are far away, if not at work."
Erik decided it was a dare and shrugged. He placed a hand on Charles' closest shoulder to steady himself as he brought one foot up to undo the boot's laces, then the other. Charles' blue eyes were wide, pupils pinpricks in the bright sun. He stepped out of the boots, pulled off his socks, then took his hand from Charles' shoulder.
They were both pleased with the smudge his hand left behind.
Removing the brace was next and took only a little less time than the boots, with the velcro and straps. It was a necessary evil; Erik didn't want the metal shavings wedged between the padding and his leg to abrade his skin.
Charles continued to watch as Erik went straight to his wet shorts. He unbuckled the belt, unbuttoned and unzipped the shorts, then let them drop to his feet. The boxer briefs he had beneath were peeled down and tossed on his boots. "I think I need a wash more than the R1."
Charles' mouth opened before his response was available. He closed his mouth and then opened it to try again. "You definitely do."
"You're the one with the water and soap," Erik chuckled, low and throaty. "Should I take them away from you?"
"I don't think you should," Charles replied with a shake of his head. "Give me a moment to assess your condition, so I can decide the best place to start."
Comfortable in his nudity, Erik crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his left leg. His cool confidence, the well-earned pride he took in his body, overcame the reality of Erik's scars and injured leg. Charles set down the water hose and circled Erik with deliberate steps. The sun met the sheen of sweat across Erik's body and lit him magnificently.
He tried to select a favorite feature from the catalogue of his body, but Charles was enamored from chiseled face, wiry limbs, and broad expanse of chest and back. So he chose according to that which he felt he had not paid enough attention to in the past and which would look best with soap gliding along it: the sinuous channel of Erik's spine.
Charles lifted the dripping sponge in his hands and squeezed soap foam on the back of Erik's neck. Erik's head dipped forward and his shoulders dropped in order to stretch his trapezius muscles. Charles followed the swift progress of the soap as it travelled the valley of Erik's spine. He moistened his lips with his tongue as the suds continued to the small of his back and then further, to run along the architecture of his muscular ass.
"Are you going to look all day," Erik's wry voice asked, "or do I need to do this myself?"
Charles blinked away his mesmerism. He placed his index finger on the top knot of Erik's spine and chased the same trail the soap had taken only to detour into a lazy caress of his ass. "What's your hurry?"
"You're wearing sun block," Erik explained patiently, "and I'm not. I don't want a sunburnt cock."
"Mmm," Charles hummed and leaned up to whisper in Erik's ear. "Then I've started in the wrong place."
He moved back to Erik's front again and lost no time wringing the sponge out on Erik's chest. It trailed down his soar plexus, over the dips and valleys of his stomach and abdominals to collect in curls of hair, along the delta above Erik's thighs. Charles twisted the sponge again, this time deliberately dropping thick suds along Erik's rising prick.
Charles smiled up at Erik's darkening expression; he loved it when Erik's lust transformed his face into such seriousness. He dropped the sponge back into the bucket and spared no time on subtlety. He palmed Erik's circumcised cock right away and began working the soap coating it, and Erik, into a lather.
Erik had expected more teasing. The unexpected grab of Charles' cold hand on his half flaccid cock surprised him. He leaned forward into the sensation and had to shoot a hand out to seize Charles' pale shoulder to keep from losing his balance. His mouth fell open on a pleasured gasp. Blood thundered through his system, rushed to fill his prick and, thus, Charles' slippery fingers, as they slipped tantalizingly back and forth along his shaft and dragged across the ridge of the glans.
The surprise on Erik showed followed by his loss of balance spread a wicked grin across Charles' face. It was hard to take Erik by surprise: he exulted every time it happened. "Is it because it takes so much blood to fill your prick out, that you get lightheaded when it happens this fast?"
Erik's teeth glinted in the sunlight as he grimaced against the assaulting pleasure and snark. He gripped Charles' shoulder all the harder, smearing his skin once again with a mélange of dirt and sweat. With his free hand, he took hold of the back of Charles' head and leaned down to savage his lips.
Charles' hand slowed as he lost focus on Erik's cock in favor of his invading tongue. Erik was fast and ruthless, forcing Charles' lips and teeth apart with his own when Charles did not accommodate fast enough. The sharp edge of his passion was as sudden as his hand had been on Erik's cock. He moaned into Erik's mouth as his tongue was stroked, circled, and sucked.
The thing that drove him mad about Erik's kisses: they often mirrored his blowjobs. It had been a month and Erik learned steadily how to best allocate pressure, saliva, and suction to Charles' curving cock. Erik's achingly physical nature, his eidetic muscle memory, was suited to sex just as much as it was to riding a motorcycle or cutting through metal. And while Erik's first blowjob had been inexpert and clumsy, it hadn't taken long for him to master the skill under Charles' direction. Plus, there was plenty to be said for his single-minded will to succeed.
Charles let go of Erik's pulsing cock and placed both hands on the taller man's shoulders in order to break the kiss. Erik's saliva, from a mouth sinfully wet, dripped down Charles' lip. He sucked it off before gasping breathlessly, "Erik, I want you to give me head."
Eyes dark with desire despite the brightness of the sun, Erik nodded. "That makes two of us."
Erik leaned forward just enough to press a kiss next to a lock of hair on Charles' forehead. The gentleness of the gesture was heartbreakingly beautiful; Charles' veins sang with love as well as lust. He'd do anything for him, he reiterated to himself. Anything.
"Shall we take it inside?" Charles suggested, taking his hand from Erik's shoulder and dropping it down to tug leadingly at Erik's fully erect cock.
Erik shook his head. "No, here's fine."
Charles frowned then, tugged again. "The veranda is too hard. You'll hurt your knee."
There was a determined look in Erik's eye that made it clear he had other ideas. "No, not on the veranda. Take off the swim shorts, Charles."
Charles tilted his head in curiosity and wonder. "Very well." He complied quickly, pushing the trunks down over his hips. There was a little trouble when they hooked on his growing erection, but then he had them down. He kicked them to the side, near Erik's filthy clothing. "What do you have in mind, Erik?"
"Sucking your cock," Erik snorted softly. "Did you forget?"
Charles shook his head, "How could I? But I fail to see how we can proceed without hurting your knee."
Erik's smile was wicked and full of teeth; it was all predator and Charles both flushed with the desire of prey and drew up his shoulders in challenge. "Sit on the R1. Backwards on the seat."
The widening of Charles' eyes was every bit as enticing as his hand had been rubbing soap along his cock. "You're joking; we'll knock it over."
Erik stepped forward, crowding Charles back to where he'd been soaping up the Yamaha. "If you hadn't had the foresight to use the rear stand, this would be much harder. Lucky you."
While Charles was thoroughly guilty of being a cock-tease while riding pillion with Erik, he didn't think sex on a motorcycle was… practical. It was a tease, a lead-in to sex once a stable playing field was reached. However, he'd seen Erik kick the R1 over to prove a point; knocking it over while getting a blow job seemed like less of a waste. Shaking his head, Charles turned toward the R1.
The rider pegs were uncomfortable under his bare feet, but using the pillion to steady himself, he mounted the bike backwards. The black seat was uncomfortably hot under his ass, but definitely too much for his sensitive scrotum. He hissed and leaned back over the tank to lift his balls off the black upholstery.
And then Erik was there, leaning over him. He had the garden hose in hand and directed the gentle flow of cold water across the seat, over his thighs, up his abdomen. With his other hand, he swept the water across Charles' stomach, leaving sloppy stripes of grey in his wake.
Charles' eyes closed, just to take in the feel. It was what he wanted; the juxtaposition of heat and chill: the R1's hot tank and seat, the blazing sun, and Erik's hand spreading cool water across his body, leaving tangible marks as the water sloughed grime from his hand. His cock ached for Erik's rough grip.
Erik's hand swept down again, across his hip bone, down his thigh, and gripped Charles' ankle. He lifted Charles' foot and settled it on the passenger peg. Charles mirrored the placement with his opposite foot. His knees pointed at the sky, each at a slightly open angle. Erik left the garden hose on Charles' stomach so it continued to pour water down his abdomen and between the channels of his thighs, splashing across his cock, cooling down his balls.
Charles felt like he was being placed for a pornographic motorcycle photo shoot like he and Max used to search for when the internet was still young. Another flush rose across his skin and sent his cock a new flood of sensation. He opened his eyes and grinned up at Erik when his hands closed on his wrists. "This is getting kinky."
A huffed chuckle left Erik's chest. He gave Charles a smoky look that was entirely consumed with desire. "I was under the impression it was kinky the moment I saw you getting fresh with my motorcycle."
"You've a lot to learn," Charles murmured, his grin cheeky.
Erik snorted quietly again and settled Charles' hands on the R1's grips. "You can twist the throttle while the key's off: the R1's fly-by-wire. Try not to move too much: the R1's steady in the stand, but neither were designed with sex in mind."
"It isn't my fault if this ends in property damage," Charles chuckled, and spread his knees wide in open invitation. His cock was jutting forward and erect. "Don't forget, I'm not completely covered in sunblock."
With another predatory smile, Erik took up the garden hose again and washed off his right hand. It was a small kindness before the greater one of taking Charles within it. Erik's left hand dropped to Charles' wet chest and splayed out wide to steady himself when he leaned over Charles and guided the tip of his cock to his warm lips. Charles barely heard the clink of the garden hose's nozzle as it hit the veranda.
His cock went gladly from cold water to hot mouth. A protracted groan left Charles; he was suddenly grateful for his hands on the R1's grips. He squeezed the black rubber hard as Erik sucked the tip of his cock. He twisted the throttle when Erik's questing tongue slipped about the perimeter of his foreskin, nudging it back and forth with little flicks.
"Oh…" Charles moaned, "Erik, please…"
Erik lifted his mouth up and ran his tongue up and down the hot length of flesh: wrote his name secretly across the shaft using the pointed tip of his tongue. He caused another hiss and gasp by lapping at the head. Then tilted his head to the side and mischievously brushed his slightly stubbled cheek across Charles' pale stomach.
Charles' cry at that sounded more indignant than pleasured. Erik chuckled at his response and parted his lips over Charles' cockhead once again. He curled his tongue lazily to rub at the frenulum then in a broad pass over the head. The skin was soft to the touch, pleasant against his tongue, and increasingly slick with precome.
Using the leverage between the grips and the passenger pegs, Charles pushed his hips up to force more of his cock past the line of Erik's teeth. The friction of Erik's ministrations were driving him crazy, as was his inability to touch him, to grab his head and direct him manually. "Fuck… Erik, more!"
Erik controlled the situation. He pushed down hard on Charles' hips with his right hand until Charles' ass was once again pressed to the R1's seat. He lowered his head to match, though, taking all the length Charles gave him.
Charles was growing ever more incoherent. His hands twisted on the R1's grips, his hips fought the pressure of Erik's hand. His cock strained, releasing a steady stream of precome, which was utterly redundant in the always slick confines of Erik's mouth. He pushed up again, as Erik steadily drove him more frantic. His thighs clenched and relaxed as he was wound up with increasing tightness. A flush that had nothing to do with the blazing sun crept in a wave up his skin. He felt like he would immolate at any moment.
Mercilessly, Erik bobbed his head. He sucked at Charles' cock, and swiped his tongue firmly over the sensitive tip on every upstroke. On the down strokes he forwent suction in order to push the head against the back of his throat. Between Charles' straining thighs, he could feel the skin of his scrotum tightening as his testes gathered for the oncoming orgasm.
The combination of suction and deep-throating didn't take long to snap the tight line of tension running through Charles' over-sensitized body. He strained, crying out hoarsely, as the power of his hips overrode Erik's arm. He jerked them raggedly as mind-numbing waves of pleasure emanated from his groin, as he shot white pulses into Erik's mouth and throat. He shut his eyes tight and lost himself to drawn-out sensation.
As quickly as he had arched up from the R1's tank and seat, he collapsed again. The aftershocks were delicious. Charles lay gasping, feeling pleasantly wrung out. His cock still twitched weakly. When he opened his eyes, Erik had the garden hose again and was using it to wash Charles' semen from his face. With a wry smile, he turned it on his body, to wash away more of the grime from his chest.
Though still weak in the wake of the orgasm, Charles was taken with the sight. Then his eyes followed the water down to Erik's full erection. He reached out and trailed his fingers across the lusty hard on. "You have a delightful cock."
Erik nodded, "So you keep telling me."
He draped the garden hose along Charles' thigh and lowered his hand to join Charles' in tracing tantalizing designs onto his cock's shaft. The slow, soft touches, however, didn't match the immediacy of Erik's need. He knocked Charles' hand away without apology and wrapped his fingers around it.
Erik again splayed his left hand across Charles' chest to steady himself, then started jerking himself off. His cock had been straining for contact throughout the entirety of the blowjob, leaving Erik with little patience. His movements started off long, his thumb perfectly placed to rub over the tip of his cock on each pull. But the strokes came faster, shorter, harder as his wet hand orchestrated the exact pleasure he needed to bring himself off quickly.
Beneath him, Charles was watching, swollen lips parted in exhausted desire. Erik caught his gaze, looked directly at the bright blue of his eyes. His breath came faster, his jaw began to strain as tension threaded throughout his body. The fingers on Charles' chest began to flex, leaving red trails and dark smudges.
Charles watched in pleasure as Erik took himself closer to the edge. He liked inciting all his tells. The jutting of his jaw, the way his lips parted to show the lower line of Erik's teeth, the tendons straining in his neck, the jerking pulse of the vein between his hipbone and the root of his cock. Erik had a catalogue of tells and Charles was quite certain he knew far more of them than anyone else.
Charles' heated gaze made it easier to reach the peak of pleasure. Erik's hand was moving fast, slapping quietly against skin. Precome dripped from his fingers to pool in the hollow of Charles' hip. He panted, gasped under his own touch, and the blue eyes fastened on him.
"Charles…"
And then he bowed forward, exhaled loudly, as the pleasure crested. His cock jerked in his hand as he shot lines of ejaculate across Charles' pale stomach. He shuddered through each hot pulse, like each one cost him a chunk of his heart. The sensation was visceral, powerful, and weakening.
"Yes, Erik," Charles encouraged unnecessarily in his softly accented voice. He took to being come on as well as he took to fucking into Erik's mouth. "Beautiful. Yes, perfect."
When the most powerful of his orgasm's convulsions were done with him, Erik folded weakly over Charles' chest and rested his forehead where he'd left smudges of pressure and dirt. His sides heaved as he worked to regain his breath. It was always like this with Charles. Never any half-assed sex like he'd occasionally experienced over the years. Charles was like a crucible for his oft remarked-on intensity.
Charles carefully let go of the R1's grips, pleasantly surprised they had not dislodged the bike during the blow job. He curled his arms around Erik's head in a brief hug, then reached down for the garden hose at his thigh. Taking it up as he had before Erik came out of his shop, he turned it onto Erik's back and began to rub the sweat and grit away.
"I suppose I'm right back where I started," he said quietly and pressed a kiss to Erik's still-filthy temple.
"You never really left," Erik murmured into the skin above Charles' heart.
I hope the new chapter of Strict will be up next week, but I can't promise: this is a really difficult chapter to organise.