King Cobra (Hot Rods)

chapter Three


“You like what you see?”

Alanso checked over his shoulder to confirm the older Latino dude wearing lots of chains had actually intended for him to answer. He thought he’d lurked far enough in the shadows to escape notice.

Maybe he’d made a sound when a couple of the younger guys milling around had approached, scuffling for the honor of kneeling at the man’s feet. Each guy offered his mouth to give the bear one hell of a lube job.

Gracious, the guy welcomed them both. With a hand on each of their heads, he drew them closer to his crotch even as he smiled at Alanso.

“Yeah. I’m talking to you, baldy.” His laugh held a bit of an edge. “You know it’s pitchblack out here. You can lose the pretty sunglasses. Unless you’re famous and wandered into ’Nut Grove by accident. Afraid people’ll recognize you?”

Alanso shook his head.

“You aren’t married, are you? I don’t screw around on people’s promises. You’ll find some here that do if that’s your thing. Somebody for everybody pretty much. Not us, though.”

“Nah. Nothing like that.” Alanso peeled his shades off and tucked one of the arms into the V of his white T-shirt. He liked the way his tattoos showed through the thin cotton. Each inked symbol helped keep him focused on a life motto, lent him strength or illustrated a badge of courage he’d earned.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth over the R on his right index finger—part of the Hot Rods label he’d indelibly inscribed on his body. A car drove across his left pinky followed by one letter on each finger, a permanent reminder of the group that had imprinted themselves on his soul.

Tonight, for the first time in over a decade, he embarked on a journey without one of his garagemates. He frowned and rubbed the marking faster.

He’d survived some rough times before stumbling across Eli and his dad at the youth center. As a child he’d drifted from couch to couch owned by gracious members of his Cuban-American extended family until he realized how he burdened families with enough mouths of their own to feed. After that, he’d survived on the streets in gangs of transient teens—most of them orphaned by deported parents—not so different from himself. Except that crime didn’t appeal to him as a profession.

Still, he hadn’t had to watch his own back in long enough that he felt soft. But he could hold his own. The knife in his pocket was a last resort kind of insurance. His brawling skills would probably render the precaution unnecessary.

“Quit biting that lip and get your sexy culo over here. Phil and Ronnie will make room for you, won’t you, boys?” The top knocked his boot into the sides of their knees, urging them apart.

The guys must have liked the way the ringleader’s cock tasted because they didn’t stop licking it long enough to complain about sharing the adequate, but not overly impressive, hard-on. Alanso imagined they were as desperate as he was, waiting for their bimonthly clandestine fix.

He’d heard rumors about this place and the things that happened on a random night every couple of weeks. Luck had been in his favor when he’d overheard some guys passing the news of the next date while he’d used a bar bathroom a few days ago. Adrenaline had run rampant through his system since. Could he go through with a visit?

Excitement and a little bit of terror had left him no choice but to check it out. He worried this could become a habit.

He had every kind of intimacy with the Hot Rods he could want—love, laughter, shared pain, pride in their workmanship. All but one. Sexual. He couldn’t do without that final gear anymore. Riding shotgun while they stalked women had quit being fun when he admitted to himself that none of the garage bunnies who threw themselves at Middletown’s infamous bad boys stacked up to Sally. And that was even before his eyes had opened to other possibilities.

Hopeless ones.

King Cobra would never let him risk their friendship—his and Eli’s, their and Sally’s or the various combinations of the larger group—on a romp. Despite the fact that some of the guys had teamed up before, it’d always been a fling, nothing serious. Definitely not a relationship like the crew had built. That was risky. If something went wrong it could tear them apart. So he stalled.

As much as Alanso wanted both Eli and Sally, he couldn’t stop dreaming about the complex polyamorous relationship he’d witnessed thriving in the crew. And if he couldn’t have that unbound wild love with his gang, he at least had to know if his recent distaste for a night of no-strings f*cking had to do with the gender of his mattress buddies.

So why couldn’t he force his boots to unglue from the matted grass?

“I’m not sure sharing is my thing.” Liar! His brain shouted at him, knowing full well that if the trio on display before him were Cobra, Kaige and Bryce—or any other combination of Hot Rods—he’d skid across the mostly cleared area beneath the makeshift pavilion like a World Series player stealing home.

“Trying to play it cool, are you?” The man jerked his chin in Alanso’s direction. “I can spot that bulge from here, even in this shitty light. Impressive for a Mexican.”

“Pendejo, I’m Cuban.” Alanso tried to keep from letting this f*cker get his hackles up. That wasn’t the part of either of them he cared to rouse tonight.

“No kidding.” The guy rolled his eyes. “Your accent is pretty distinct. My grandmother’s from Matanzas. But I did get you to come closer, didn’t I?”

“I don’t have an accent.” He tipped his head.

One of the guys—Ronnie, he thought—still sucking away, choked, as if on a laugh.

Alanso glared at him.

“Hey now. We’re an equal opportunity kind of gathering here.” The guy smiled a bit, his face starting to relax as the men teasing him proved they were good at what they did. Maybe they’d teach Alanso a thing or two. “Come on, kid. I’m not going to last forever. Take what you want. At least let me get a better look at you while I cream their faces.”

The top grunted. The guys at his feet braced his thighs.

Alanso swallowed hard and glanced away.

White Christmas lights decorated the stand of trees that sheltered like-minded men who had nowhere else to turn for what they needed. It was almost romantic and utterly heartbreaking simultaneously. He wished his first intentional male-on-male experience could have happened somewhere he felt more comfortable.

Like maybe Eli’s desk in the garage office or up against a stack of tires.

He didn’t count the day he’d actually touched the person he wanted most. Okay, fine, one of the people. Damn Joe and the crew for poisoning his brain with dirty possibilities. They’d guaranteed he was unsatisfied with anything short of a tender gangbang. Meanwhile, Eli had obviously been too shocked to listen to his better f*cking judgment in the heat of the moment, but he’d snapped into shape as soon as they’d hit the highway toward home. Refusing to talk about what’d happened, he had slammed the door on any relapses.

At least Alanso had experienced heaven once. The memory of Eli’s moans—and the heat of his come pouring over the Hot Rods tattoos on Alanso’s knuckles—would fill his mind as he fooled around with another man tonight. His imagination was strong enough to superimpose the crucial details over his make-do experience.

Vivid enough they’d drive him to ecstasy or at least action.

Going home without having taken his bisexuality for a test drive was not an option. Sure, he liked fooling around with women plenty. But now that he admitted to himself he’d always been kind of curious about men, he felt like he’d starved that part of him for far too long. The p-ssy he’d scored since the eye-opening round with the crew just hadn’t satisfied him.

The urge to f*ck—to be f*cked—had grown in him until it hurt.

And Eli hadn’t been there to take away the ache this time.

No more.

But he could use some help getting started. He hadn’t dared stop for a fortifying drink. Not when he was riding his motorcycle, and definitely not when he was flying solo over new territory. “Look, I—uh, I’ve mostly never done this before.”

“Sure you haven’t.” The guy snorted. “It’s been my first time every other week for the last decade too.”

So long in a meaningless cycle. Why hadn’t this guy found a lover? One he could take in the light of day? Was Alanso doomed to hiding in the shadows if he did this tonight? No, it was just a trial. A way to find out what he really wanted before he gambled with bigger stakes.

“I thought I could watch this time around.” And if it got him hot enough, maybe he’d do a little taste testing of his own.

“Sorry, kid. That’s not how it works. No play, no stay.” The veteran shrugged somewhat apologetically. “Otherwise, how do we know you’re not going to narc on us? Or take incriminating pictures or some shit? Get dirty like we do or go back to momma.”

“That puta left me behind years ago.” He slipped his fingers through his belt loops to keep from stroking the tattoo of her on his shoulder. “Kicked out of the country. Sent back to Havana. Couldn’t be bothered to lug a brat with her.”

Why the hell was he telling a stranger that?

One of the cuties, Phil, manipulating the standing guy paused. He pressed a kiss to the side of the ultra-stiff shaft in his fist and peeked up at Alanso. “No one’s rejecting you tonight. Come over here.”

Alanso clenched his jaw and nodded once. “Maybe.”

The second man on his knees lifted his head and winked up at the guy he serviced. “He’s cute. Can we keep the new guy, Links?”

“It’s up to him.” Links held out his hand as his playthings adjusted their places. Chains rattled as they brushed against his cargo pants. “You want to play with us, cariño?”

“I think I do. Yeah.” Alanso scrunched his eyes closed a moment before stepping forward. He hadn’t realized he’d crossed the space until one of the men pressed his palms to Alanso’s thighs.

“We’ll go easy on you.” He nuzzled the crotch of Alanso’s jeans. The deep breath Ronnie drew made him self-conscious for not making a pit stop at the apartment above Hot Rods, which he shared with the rest of his garagemates, to change before heading out. Had he hesitated, even for a moment, he wouldn’t have been able to go through with this. As it was, he’d driven around for hours before pointing his bike in this direction.

“I’m pretty sure I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” He held out his hand, feeling ridiculous. “I’m Al.”

“A pleasure.” Phil smiled while Ronnie growled and tugged the waist of Alanso’s jeans.

“Help us with Links. Or get your peeking in while we work. I’m suddenly hungry for dessert.”

Alanso allowed his knees to collapse. A puff of dirt rose around him. His shoulders bumped into the guys now flanking him. The heat they radiated was welcome.

“Ain’t that a pretty sight?” Links thrust his hips forward, rubbing his cock over Phil’s cheek before presenting his tool to Alanso. “Go ahead. Try it. You might like it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He looked inward, measured the pulse of excitement flooding his veins and decided this was it.

Time to find out once and for all.

“One thing…I’m doing this the safe way or not at all.” Alanso wouldn’t budge on that requirement. If he ever did get another shot with Eli, or Sally, or any of the other guys, he refused to put them in danger.

“Damn, I’d like to be in your mouth bare. But I get you don’t know us. Yet.” Links dug in his pocket and withdrew a couple of condoms. “Mint or cherry?”

“Go for the mint,” Phil advised. “It’s like brushing your teeth. Covers up the rubber taste.”

He nodded.

Links ripped the foil and sheathed himself so fast Alanso figured he’d done it a million times before. The guys beside him each wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing him into their fold. They helped him lean forward despite the pebbles gouging his knees. Links brushed the pad of his thumb over Alanso’s lips, triggering his reflexive opening.

The three men fed him his first taste of male flesh.

His eyes went wide, and his gaze locked on Links’.

“Mmm, you like that? Yeah. I knew you would.” The guy splayed his fingers on Alanso’s bald head and rubbed the shiny surface of his scalp.

Alanso weighed the plump, if not huge, cock on his tongue. He suckled lightly, then a bit harder. It felt nice in his mouth. Warm, firm and full. His eyes drifted closed as he went for another nibble.

“You’re f*cking hot. A waste to never have had this mouth f*cked before.”

The guy was getting into it now. Really.

“Enjoy while you can, Al,” Ronnie cheered him on. “Links is close already. We got him good and riled for you. Maybe next time you’ll taste him. A little sweaty, a little salty.”

“Shit, Phil.” Ronnie ground against Alanso’s left side, prodding his hip with a thick shaft encased in denim. “Cut that out or you’re going to make me come in my pants again.”

“I have a feeling we’ll both be up for more than one round after this.” He smiled at his friend.

“Probably true.” The guy practically vibrated where they fused together.

Alanso could relate. His tongue lapped along the coated underside of Links’ erection, making him half-freak-out and half-celebrate. He was doing it. Really doing it. And coño, it felt good. Right.

Almost perfect.

Alanso relaxed his jaw, permitting himself to take Links farther into his mouth. He didn’t stop until the head of the guy’s cock stabbed the back of his throat and he choked. The men on either side of him pulled him off.

“Don’t get all crazy now, Al.” Phil rubbed his shoulders. “You’ll have plenty of chances to practice if you want them. Go slow tonight. Enjoy this.”

He moaned. The vibration had Links’ cock jerking on the tip of his tongue. He craned his neck and sucked harder.

“Careful. Teeth,” the guy panted.

Alanso thought of all the sloppy BJs he’d had from too-drunk chicks and tried to focus. When he did, he swirled his tongue around the ridges made by the veins now standing out on Links’ shaft. He worked up the length, learning the textures and shapes along the way until he got to the plump head.

Alanso closed his lips around the tip of Links’ cock and suckled. He flicked his tongue through the indentation made by the slit at the top, smearing superslick precome from the divot onto the reservoir of the condom. A shiver ran down his spine as he imagined the bulge filling with seed.

“Goddamn,” Links growled.

“He’s a natural.” Phil patted Alanso’s ass.

“Go ahead. Take him deeper. Slow this time,” Ronnie coached him. “Be ready. You probably won’t get far before he goes off.”

The four men braced each other in a ring, each of them fully engaged in the moment.

Alanso felt part of something…bigger…than his simple arousal.

What if it were Carver, Holden and Eli sharing the moment with him? Sally and Roman? Bryce? Kaige? Something this powerful would forge an unbreakable bond. He’d never have to worry about losing them again. Not like his mom.

Desperation forced him to suck harder than intended. He sealed Links’ fate.

“Oh shit, yeah.” The man’s fingers dug into Alanso’s shoulders. The tiny pain was welcome.

“Keep going,” Phil encouraged. “Drain him dry.”

His throat flexed as Links shouted and squirmed. The minty cock in his mouth swelled then jerked as Alanso’s first satisfied customer filled his condom with a thick load. For Alanso. He’d pleased a man. An experienced, kind of jaded guy.

Phil tapped his chin. “Okay, Al. Let him go. He’s spent.”

He opened his mouth. A whimper escaped along with limp flesh when Links’ cock slipped free. Alanso’s hand flew to his jeans and ripped them open before jamming his fist inside.

“Oh hell no.” Ronnie tugged his wrist.

Alanso nearly decked the man. He could come with a few good jerks.

Links hit the dirt on his knees just as Phil and his partner colluded to shove Alanso backward. He fell to the ground, his shoulders slamming into the clearing. For one tiny second, fear shriveled his balls.

“Shh. Nothing to fight here, Al.” Phil held him down gently. Alanso could have broken the hold at any time. “Let us take care of you like you deserve.”

“Me?” He hadn’t considered that.

“Yeah.” Phil grinned, a wolf’s smile. “It’s your turn.”