The Captain And The New Car

Two Married Men With One Bad Idea

The Captain part 1 is here.

The charity gala was louder than the stadium.

At the stadium, the noise was directional, a wave of sound you could ride if you kept your head straight. Here, in the ballroom of the city’s oldest hotel, the noise was chaotic. It was the clinking of crystal, the drone of donors asking about knee injuries, and the suffocating mix of expensive perfume and prime rib.

I hated it.

I stood near a pillar, swirling a scotch I hadn’t tasted, watching the room. My lower back was tight again, a phantom ache that had been flaring over the past few weeks. I knew how to fix it, and I knew who could fix it, but I hadn’t stepped foot in the therapy room for twenty-one days. I played through the pain, because it was safer than the alternative.

Across the room, I saw him.

Graham.

The reason I’d avoided silence for twenty-one days.

He looked different in a suit. In his therapy room, in his branded polos and shorts, he was purely functional; broad, capable, heavy. In a dark navy suit, he looked dangerous. He was laughing at something a sponsor said, his head thrown back, his neck exposed.

Then his eyes cut across the room and locked onto mine.

It was instantaneous. The air between us didn’t just thin; it vanished. My stomach dropped, that same shameful, heavy heat pooling in my gut that I’d felt on the leather table. We stared for a second too long, a dangerous, electric second, before we both nodded curtly and looked away.

“Steve! Stop hiding.”

I flinched like I’d been slapped. It was Maria. She hooked her arm through mine, radiant in a silver dress that cost more than my first car. But she wasn’t alone.

“Alina was just telling me about the auction items,” Maria said, beaming.

Alina. Graham’s wife.

She smiled at me, warm and unsuspecting. “Hi, Steve. I heard about your injury. Are you better now?”

The irony tasted like bile. “Yes... much better, thanks, Alina. Body feels good thanks to your husband.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Maria teased, squeezing my bicep. “I saw you limping this morning. Look, you two need a break. Graham is bored to tears over by the bar, and he won’t shut up about that new car of his. Why don’t you go take a look? You’ve been drooling over the RS6 for months.”

“I don’t think…” I started, panic flaring.

“Go,” Maria insisted, pushing me gently. “Alina and I need to coordinate the raffle anyway. Get him out of here before he punches a donor.”

I looked at Alina. She nodded, smiling. “Take the keys. He’s dying to show it off! But no driving, you’ve both drunk too much.”

It was a trap, one set by the two people we were betraying, and they didn’t even know they were springing it.

I found Graham near the exit. He looked as cornered as I felt. When I held up the keys Alina had pressed into my hand, his eyes widened slightly, then darkened.

“Alina said you should show me the car,” I said, my voice sounding tight, foreign.

Graham stared at me. He swirled his drink, downed the rest of it in one swallow, and set the glass on a passing waiter’s tray.

He avoided my eyes, like he was afraid to see his own reflection in them.

“Right,” he said. His voice was rougher than I remembered. “Let’s go.”

We walked out of the ballroom, down the plush corridor, and into the cool, biting air of the valet lot. The silence of the night was actually a physical relief. Our footsteps echoed on the concrete; sharp, rhythmic, and separate. We didn’t speak, it seemed like the most awkward situation to be in. I’d agreed because I’d had enough to drink to face the conversation I’d been having. The one that said, ‘hey, it was a stupid mistake, but we’re all good now’. The tension that had been building for three weeks was walking right beside me, six feet two and smelling of expensive bourbon and nervousness and I couldn’t even make small talk.

The car was parked under a halogen light in the VIP section. A charcoal gray Audi RS6. A beast of a machine. “Fuck me! I love that car. I bet it drives like a dream,” I said, momentarily focused on just the car.

“Go for it,” Graham said, “get in the driver’s seat and I’ll give you a rundown.”

As soon as he said those words, I flinched again, and my throat tightened.

“I mean…”

I smiled awkwardly. “It’s okay, I get you.”

I pressed the fob, and the lights flashed, a predatory amber wink.

I walked to the driver’s side, glad to have permission to be in the driver’s seat because I needed something to hold onto, something to control. Graham opened the passenger door and slid in.

I got in and pulled the door shut.

The sound was absolute. The heavy thud of German engineering sealed us inside, cutting off the wind, the gala, and the world. The interior smelled of rich, new leather and that faint, underlying scent of Graham… warm and masculine.

I gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, staring at the digital dash as it purred to life.

“It’s... great,” I said. My throat was dry.

“600 horsepower,” Graham murmured. He was sitting low, his seat pushed back. “Twin-turbo V8. Does zero to sixty in three point six.”

“Fast,” I managed.

“It handles tight,” Graham said. He was focused on the dashboard, like if he looked at me I’d remind him of what we did. “Grip is incredible. You don’t feel the road.”

The words hung in the air, somehow with double meaning. The silence in the cabin began to pressurize.

“Listen… about last time. I er… just wanted to….” I cleared my throat.

Finally Graham looked at me. “It’s fine, Steve. When I’m releasing tension in the psoas and the adductors, the body can fire off reflexively. Happens to every client at some point.”

I let out a breath, not realizing I’d been holding it. “Have you done that…”

Before I could even get out those last words, his response was loud, sharp and fast. “No! Never!” He paused, composed himself, then added, “Sorry. No, it’s never happened. I don’t know why that day with you, we um…” he paused, then continued, “I tried to forget it, but I couldn’t.”

I felt like we were on the same page, having at least attempted to discuss it. The whole ‘it’s psoas and abductors’ was good enough for me. If the specialist said so, then I’d happily go with that as an explanation.

“The, uh... the console is different from the last model,” I stammered, stroking the dashboard, the need to do something with my hands.

I reached down to touch the gear selector, the smooth, cold metal of the shifter in the center console.

“Yeah,” Graham said, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s responsive.”

My hand brushed the leather of the center armrest.

Graham had manspread, his knees wide apart in the limited space. The console was the only barrier between us. As my hand hovered over the gear shift, the glow from the dashboard instrument panel cast a soft, blue light across his lap.

I froze.

The fabric of his suit trousers was strained tight across his thighs. And there, unmistakable against the dark wool, was the ridge. He was hard. Painfully, undeniably hard. It was so obvious to me that he wasn’t even aware it was straining his own pants.

My breath caught and I should have looked away. I should have made a joke about the heater, but somehow I didn’t. I stared at his bulge like it was the best feature in his brand new car.

When Graham looked down at what I was staring at, his head slumped like he was defeated.

I could see he was struggling.

“Oh,” was all he said.

When he finally looked up at me, there was something in his eyes that I recognized instantly. That same feeling I had when we’d been overwhelmed in his office that day. A primal yearning to touch it, and experiment with it.

“I thought...” I whispered, my hand still hovering over the gear shift, inches from his leg. “I thought that...”

He just dry swallowed, looking away.

“We should probably get back,” I said, turning the ignition off but not moving, looking through the windshield at the empty lot.

“Yeah,” he said, but didn’t move either.

I realized in that moment that not only had Graham’s cock made a fool of him, but mine had responded.

I was also hard.

Also defeated, I threw my head back and let out a breath.

Graham must have noticed, because he uttered a small laugh, not in a way that was funny, but awkward and very uncomfortable.

The strain of my cock in my pants was so bad that I had to at least shift it, so I put a hand down as subtly as I could and adjusted, to give it at least a tiny bit of room.

But Graham’s hand came out, and touched my thigh. “Steve…” he began.

I turned to him, reading his eyes in the darkened interior of his brand new RS6, and understanding that he mirrored my own conflicted confusion.

Once more, my body responded before my brain did. I turned to him, reached over so I was inches from his face.

“It’s really bad…” I started.

“…our wives are inside…” he continued.

“…we really shouldn’t…”

But we did.

He shifted his hips, the leather seat creaking beneath him, that same sound from the table, the sound of a heavy body losing control.

He reached out and grabbed my wrist. His hand was hot, his grip crushing. He didn’t pull me away; he pulled me down. He pressed my hand onto his thigh, right next to his cock.

“Tell me to stop,” he challenged, his eyes dark and wild in the dashboard light. “Tell me you don’t have the same problem right now.”

For half a second, I almost did. Almost told him no, and almost saved both our lives. But the words wouldn’t come because I couldn’t lie. My own pants were cutting into me, the friction unbearable. The alcohol in my system stripped away the captain’s discipline, leaving only the man who had been secretly dreaming about this for twenty-one nights.

“I can’t,” I confessed.

Graham moved slowly, like a man who doesn’t know what direction he’s going in. He unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking loudly in the quiet cabin.

Looking out across the lot, we could see the empty cars and the parking lot devoid of people for quite a distance.

A light rain fell, making that patter sound on the roof.

Watching the lot, he unbuckled his belt, undid his button, then unzipped his trousers. His hand adjusted his cock through his jocks.

I watched, simultaneously unbuckling, unzipping and feeling the immense relief as my hand grabbed my cock.

But I wanted to grab his; I’d already seen it, what it looked like, uncut, big, thick and warm. I remembered what it smelled like, and how hot it had been in my hand.

He shoved his trousers down, his hips bucking up to free himself, so I did the same, pulling mine down, then lifting my jocks so I could free mine.

When he pulled his cock out, it sprang free, thick and heavy and leaking.

We stared at each other’s cocks, not saying anything, slowly jerking our cocks.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

He didn’t wait, and reached across the console, his hand moving across my thigh like in the office that day on the table, and slid to my shaft. So I reached over, and went to his cock. Our faces were inches away from each other, and we stared for a fraction of a second, before we moved toward each other and our lips touched.

His forehead pressed to mine for a heartbeat, like he needed the contact more than the kiss, and something in my chest broke open.

We kissed again, like we hadn’t spent weeks trying to erase that one incident that had somehow ignited something I didn’t want to name.

It was too much sensation after weeks of nothing as we kissed, hands gripping each other’s cocks as the hard leather seats creaked.

He paused, looked down, and his head bent. “I really want to…” he began.

I nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

We were speaking the same language of awkwardness but both understood exactly what that meant.

I leaned back, watching the lot. A valet darted past the row of cars, maybe thirty feet away, and for a second both of us froze.

As soon as he was gone, Graham leaned over the console, struggling against the confines of the car. He dipped his head, his mouth finding the head of my cock while I kept a lookout.

The feeling of his tongue, hot and wet, sent a shockwave through my spine. I bucked my hips up, hitting the steering column, but I didn’t care. When his mouth circled the head of my cock, my fingers dug into the expensive leather of his passenger seat.

He gagged, a wet, guttural sound that drove me insane. He sucked me, like actually sucked my cock. Slowly, from the tip, moving down at least halfway, but it was enough.

Nothing I’d experienced in recent times was on par with this beautiful fucking feeling. In that moment, as his hot mouth wrapped around my cock, I did not care about anything other than finishing this. Whatever this was.

“Graham,” I moaned, the sound filling the small cabin.

He pulled off, breathless, saliva shining on his lips in the dashboard glow. “Was that… okay?”

I didn’t say anything. I kissed him again, a little hungrier this time, like now it was less about compulsion and more about want, my hand going back to his cock, gripping it like I was hanging on.

He pulled away and leaned back, looking down. I didn’t need to be asked twice.

I leaned over the gear shift, twisting my torso, and did something I’d never done before, never even imagined I’d consider, let alone doing, in all of my straight, married life.

His lips had tasted like scotch and salt and musk, but his cock tasted fresh, like hot skin that’s been sitting in jocks for hours desperate for freedom.

His precum was salty, but oddly pleasant, as it swirled in my mouth while my lips moved down, seeing how much of his cock I could take in my mouth.

It turns out, a few drinks in, I got nearly all the way to the base. I didn’t feel awkward in that moment, because he’d already sucked on mine, so I went as far to the base of his cock as I could. It almost hit the back of my throat and I gagged almost reflexively, then jerked it with my hand, listening to the sounds he made.

I pulled off for a second, while I studied it and stroked it. “Are you keeping an eye out?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, his voice sounding dreamy, like he was impatient for me to continue.

I sucked it again, feeling it swell in my mouth, throb as more precum oozed and flooded my mouth.

“Fuck!” he said. I touched his balls, fascinated by how hot they were, and how good they felt in my fingers. I wanted to explore them more, but let my mouth suck his cock, knowing how that felt.

“Steve!” he called, so I quickly got up and moved to my seat. He looked frantic, like something was happening, so I checked the lot. Still quiet.

Then I realized, he was close. I jerked, watching his face, and the way his eyes went to my cock, to my face, the way he leaned in, wanting one last kiss, so I leaned in and we did that.

Our lips touched again, our tongues even more adventurous while we jerked off.

I felt it then, erupt without warning, so quickly moved back, looking down. I moved back, to give my cock room, but I was already shooting my load. I cupped it with my hand, because it truly did feel like an eruption, but somehow, it went sideways.

“Argh!” Graham’s sounds were loud as he exploded too, and like me, he struggled to contain it. I watched as in that dim light, both of us sprayed in multiple directions.

Both of us jizzed all over his dashboard, all over the seats, the steering wheel, the gear shift, and even on the windows.

“Jesus!” I said, breathing heavily, still nutting and horrified at what we’d just done to his new car.

Graham looked stricken, cupping his cock, but somehow still blowing jizz around him. He hissed, slamming his head back against the cushioned headrest.

The car was suddenly too small and the air had gotten too hot.

We looked at each other, wild-eyed, chests heaving, sweat beading on our foreheads, covered in each other’s cum. The pretense was gone. The wives, the gala, the donors—they didn’t exist.

It was hard to see the mess in the dark, so we quickly pulled our pants up and put it all away. He checked to make sure I was ready, and he flicked the light on.

It had been a violent eruption. There was semen across the steering wheel, it had splattered the instrument cluster, across the windshield. The smell of sex and semen was overwhelming, drowning out the new car scent.

I slumped back into the driver’s seat, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, feeling bad for Graham and what we’d just done to his car.

It was a disaster.

In the glove compartment, he had some wet wipes. He handed me a bunch, which I accepted, and together, we cleaned everything as much as we could. We opened the doors and he put the vents on full for a few minutes.

“Jesus Christ,” Graham whispered, as he used the wipes to clean off everything we could see.

He paused and stared at the dashboard, his chest still heaving. He looked at the mess we’d made of his hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar car.

He looked at me.

Panic should have set in. The shame should have returned. But Graham started to laugh. It was a breathless, incredulous sound.

“I haven’t even made the first payment yet,” he said, tossing the wipes back into the glove compartment.

I looked at him, then back at the wad of used wipes, and a bubble of hysteria rose in my chest. I wiped the steering wheel, the action so domestic and so wrong that it made my head spin.

I started to laugh too.

“Your wife,” I said, my voice breaking, “is going to ask why the car smells like cum.”

He laughed. “Yeah, about that. Fuck.”

When we closed the car doors, the smell lingered but it had lost intensity. I could at least still smell the leather; that new car smell.

“It’s better,” I lied.

Graham smiled. “Yeah, a little. I’ll get it cleaned tomorrow, but tonight might be tough.”

I didn’t say anything, glad it wasn’t my brand new car.

We stepped out of the car, the cool night air hitting our flushed faces. Graham clicked the lock. The car beeped, hiding the evidence inside.

“Ready to go back in?” he asked.

I adjusted my cuffs, feeling the ghost of his grip on my skin. “No.”

“Me neither,” Graham said.

We walked back toward the lights of the hotel anyway, shoulder to shoulder, no longer avoiding the collision.

“At least we can laugh about it,” I said, but I had so many questions. And for the first time since that day in his treatment room, I felt like I might be able to ask them.

“Yeah, it was… kind of weird, but also a relief. I thought about that day in my office a few times.”

I nodded as I walked, looking over at him. A very good looking guy, well-liked, well-respected and equally as married and entrenched in his family as I was.

With just as much to lose.

“Yeah, it was weird.”

He looked at me and smiled, then punched my arm. “We’re good,” he said, then added, “I’ll see you Monday morning. We need to get you back to a hundred percent. Right?”

“Got it,” I said.

We walked back into the light. The heat of the ballroom hit us instantly. Maria saw me first, her face lighting up as she rushed over. “There you are! I was about to send a search party.” She reached out, sliding her hand into mine to lace our fingers together. I flinched, almost pulling away. I’d washed my hands with the wipes and used the sanitizer in the car door. But as Maria lifted my hand to squeeze it, pressing her cheek against my shoulder, I was terrified she’d smell him on me. My skin still felt branded where he’d grabbed my wrist.

Across the room, Graham was hugging Alina. Over her shoulder, his eyes met mine. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked just as worried, and just as thrilled as I was.

We were back to being friends, sure. But now we were friends with a secret that could burn this whole room down.