Redemption's A Bitch - 3. Between A Rock And A Hard Cock

Kieran switched for his favourite pair of Dainese boots and a pair of jeans with hidden Kevlar armoured sections. It wasn’t that he ever planned on coming off his bike, but you never could be sure of other drivers. He always wore his protective stuff, even when he was only going ten miles on good roads in dry weather. He zipped up his jacket, said goodnight to the dogs, and surveyed the garage.

He liked bikes, and bikes liked him, except when both tried to kill each other both on and off the track. But tonight Kieran just wanted easy speed. So he chose his favourite of all his two wheeled vehicles, pulled on the matching red helmet with the blackout visor, and swung his leg over the body of the Ducati 749 before punching the remote lock for the garage door. The bike roared to life, the engine thrumming expectantly between his thighs. Kieran grinned. The Ducati had great styling and sleek lines, and vertically mounted front lights, which made it unusual, and though it wasn’t the sexiest of his bikes, he adored it nonetheless. He punched Rebecca’s parents address into the satnav on his phone and the speaker inside the helmet faded the radio automatically to tell him:

“At the end of the drive, bear left on-to Dy-ke road for three hun-dred yards.”

Kieran liked driving in the dark. More than that, he loved coming around the roundabout and opening up the throttle as he pulled onto the three lane bypass which was largely empty, and gunning the engine as hard as he could. He flew through the dark, changing lanes with a soft touch of the handlebars and a tilt of his long, narrow body. The bike moved with him, felt him and responded. It was the skill that made him formidable on the track, and the one that had nearly ended his life. Although Shastan was no longer his guardian as he had been, Kieran had never forgotten the fear in his cousin’s eyes when he had delivered a Kieran-shaped ban on all professional and open-amateur racing. Now Kieran rode for fun, but that didn’t stop him riding hard.

He couldn’t help but love it, even if he was never going to race again, and in his head Kieran picked on other cars and smirked inside his helmet when he flashed by. He knew they looked at him with his blaring tail lights, knew that they stared for his speed, the noise, the phantom element of a skinny young man on a fast machine, long braid whipping in the wind. Every time he rode like this, alone and in the dark, he couldn’t help but get hard. The engine growled between his thighs, vibrating against his taint, arousing some deep part of his body and soul that didn’t care for propriety and convention and wanted to be consumed by the power. His trainer and the guys on the circuit had always said he drove angry, but Kieran knew he just drove with conviction. It was so delicious sometimes that he couldn’t wait to get off, in order to get off.

The Ducati’s engine was deafeningly loud once he reached the town. It wasn’t late, the sort of quiet after-dinner time that made small country towns seem sleepy and un-obviously occupied. Even though it was summer, and the sky above the silhouettes of trees was only a dark indigo, warm light spilled from dozens of windows. Kieran flashed by, keeping the revs low, dulling the engine to a whispered roar, sneaking through the shadows. His customised sat-nav told him there was a tiny thoroughfare he could take and so Kieran slipped between two stones walled terraces nearly as old as the ruined castle on the hill, and turned from there into a little stone courtyard, well-appointed with topiary and a little wooden bench. There were four apartments spread around the buildings, which were new but had been made to look like they weren’t, and Kieran let the engine muffle and sleep gently, pulling off his helmet and looking up at the windows and frosted glass balcony walls. His parents had lived somewhere not too dissimilar, but after nearly ten years in the mansion off Dyke Road, Kieran couldn’t imagine living somewhere so hemmed in. He’d seen photos of Rebecca’s apartment in the city, and had thanked a god he’d never believed in that he had never had to live somewhere so small and full of mould and damp.

Kieran flicked his hair out of his collar, where his braid always seemed to end up when he drove, and nipped up the stairs to the front door in order to knock. He never used doorbells if it could be avoided. He’d met Rebecca’s parents a couple of times when they’d been to the house, it was unfortunately unavoidable, what with him being Shastan’s only living relative, and he was expecting her mother or father to answer, probably shuffling to the front door in comfy clothes and slippers. For them the evening would already be over, the rest to be filled with television and discussing the weather and the wedding. Kieran on the other hand was already imagining where he would drive with his Ducati and is hard-on, which bars would have the best outside crowd to swoon over the bike. Any populated bar he walked into had a one hundred percent chance of him getting laid if he wanted, but tonight he kind of wanted a man who reminded him of the Ducati: big and hard and thrumming between his legs.

“Yes?” The voice snapped Kieran out of his sexually fuelled daydream, and dropped him right into an unexpected sexually fuelled reality. He’d been expecting Rebecca’s parents, but standing in the doorway was a slim and beautiful young man dressed in non-descript jeans and jumper which somehow only made him more radiant. Kieran stared openly, a confident grin spreading over his face.

“Yes?” The boy repeated.

“Who the hell are you?” Kieran covered for his lapse in concentration with a brash sort of snarl. “I’m here to pick up Rebecca’s shoes.” He didn’t give the boy time to answer, or react, as he slid past him into the house and started up the stairs. The boy spun around and followed him.

“Hey!” He stopped in the doorway to his sister’s bedroom, which Kieran had found mostly by luck on his first try. He stared at Kieran pacing the room, looking for the shoe box. “You’re not Rebecca’s fiancé. Who are you?”

Kieran pulled himself up to his full height and turned from the shoulder to stare at the boy. He was actually a young man, probably nineteen, obviously pretty, with styled, slightly wavy blond hair, hazel-brown eyes and flush pink skin. Kieran’s presence already made him nervous.

“Do I look like I would be marrying Becca Shaw?” Kieran asked derisively. “I’m Shastan’s cousin,” he turned properly to the boy and held out his hand, “Kieran Tristan Toyne.”

The boy shook his hand and Kieran memorized the dry, smooth texture of his skin. He liked the colour difference in their skin tones, and it was easy to imagine the naked skin under the boy’s clothes, all smooth and hard. Damn the shoes. Kieran stepped closer, bringing his sternum against the boy’s with a little bump.

“And you are?”

“R-Robin.” He stepped back and dropped Kieran’s hand, blinking hard. “Rebecca’s my sister. What did you want?”

“You sister needs specific shoes apparently.” Kieran smiled one of his several trademark grins. This one was I Can Tell You Think I’m Sexy, and he wore it well. “Do you know where they are?”

“My parents are out.” Robin’s voice had a certain unsureness to it, and Kieran was pleased that he had volunteered the information, it made everything simpler.

“Fantastic.” Kieran turned to let Robin slip past him and into the room, allowing his gaze to travel over the boy’s back and shoulders, lingering on the round shape of his butt.

“I think she left them by the bed.” He bent to fetch the silvery-white box and Kieran made sure he was standing close enough when Robin straightened up for the boy to bump into him. There was a long moment where Kieran could see the little fine hairs on the back of his neck rise as Kieran breathed in his ear, before he spun around.

Robin stared at him, open mouthed. Kieran took his opportunity, and with his I Love Winning smile, pushed his long fingers into Robin’s thick hair and kissed him. It was an aggressive sort of kiss, making the best of the boy’s shock, and Kieran knew that given another few seconds, libido would take the place of outrage and he’d get to nail Rebecca’s brother on her pink-sheeted mattress.

The slap was hard and unexpected enough to knock him back quite a way, and Kieran was only saved from falling to the floor by the small size of the room as he hit the wall first. Robin looked furious, but he took a deep breath and brushed down his shirt.

“I think I’d best come with you to deliver these. Wait downstairs.”

Five minutes later, Kieran wondered what the fuck he was doing. He was standing in the hallway, staring blankly at a picture of Robin, Rebecca and their parents circa Rebecca’s Secondary School Graduation, without really seeing it, waiting for Robin. Kieran hadn’t waited for anyone in pretty much his entire adult life. Ever since he has become charismatic enough to get what he wanted, whenever he wanted it, he had done everything on his own schedule. And yet here he was, holding an ivory box containing his cousin’s fiancés wedding shoes, waiting for her brother to join him. He didn’t have to wait, he could have gone, but something kept him there.

Kieran liked Robin, liked the way he looked and the way his mouth moved when he spoke. He had liked very much the heat and bird-fast heartbeat of the boy pressed against his chest, and liked the way he tasted, albeit too briefly. And Robin had kissed him back. In the moment between the shock and the slap, there had been a flash of… something. A taste of tongue and curiosity. Robin didn’t hate him, or he definitely wouldn’t have decided to come back to the city with him, and Kieran was quite enjoying the fact that like it or not, the boy was going to have to put his arms around Kieran for the next twenty minutes: the Ducati didn’t have a passenger seat hand-hold, and Kieran fancied driving back just a bit slower than he had driven there.

None of that really explained why he was still waiting for the boy. It had been so long since Kieran had actually pursued someone, he honestly couldn’t remember the last time, or who it had been. Sure, there were the three minute tussles on the dance floor as people let their inhibitions slip, and the sort of push-me pull-you conversations outside clubs and bars as dominance was ascertained or surrendered. But not for a long time had Kieran tried to impress anyone, or wanted to.

“Ready.” Robin trotted down the stairs, now dressed in slightly better jeans, very white Converse All-Stars, and a button down blue plaid shirt. “You have the shoes?”

“Yeah. You’ll need a jacket.”

“Huh?” Robin looked perplexed, and Kieran toed open the front door and gestured towards the Ducati, cooling down softly in the dark.

“We’re on the bike.”

For half a second, Robin went pale, and looked aghast, but he recovered quickly, grabbed a bleach washed denim jacket from the coat rack and locked the front door behind him. Kieran handed him the red helmet, and then stashed the shoes in the small under-seat compartment which was just big enough to fit the box, but only by squashing the corners in. He only had one helmet, and while Kieran wasn’t hugely keen on riding without one, he was not leaving the bike and waiting for a train for half an hour. Robin had quite clearly never actually worn a proper motorcycle helmet before, and Kieran had to help him with the chin strap. The boy’s skin was heavenly soft, beautifully so, and Kieran let his hand wander from his chin to his throat, the jumping beat of his pulse, and lower to the open collar of his jacket and the lovely sinuous curves of his clavicle. Robin pushed his hand away, and Kieran stepped back, zipping up his own jacket to cover the action of fitting a remote ear-bud into his ear. He might not be able to talk to Robin inside the helmet, but all of his bike gear came fitted with radios, two-way broadcast and speaker systems, and Kieran quite fancied knowing what the boy muttered to himself.

Kieran swung his leg over the bike and kicked out the stand, balancing the big machine between his thighs.

“On you jump. Just don’t kick me in the head.”

“That would be a tragedy.” Robin muttered in Kieran’s ear. “Fuck, where do I hold on?”

Kieran didn’t let on that he could hear the boy, but he shuffled forwards very slightly as Robin hopped up onto the back seat of the bike. He’d thought of the boy as being small, but he wasn’t much shorter than Kieran’s lanky frame. His legs found the toe-pads on the body of the bike, and his thighs closed around Kieran’s as he tried to find a place to balance on the tiny leather seat.

“Bollocks.” He muttered, and put his arms around Kieran’s narrow waist. “All set.” He said a bit too loudly for Kieran’s ear-piece.

“Hold on tight, and lean into the corners.” Kieran tucked his braid into the back of his collar. It wasn’t nice to be slapped in the face by the thing. “Don’t let go.”

The engine thrummed into life underneath them. Robin’s thighs tensed automatically, and as Kieran pulled smoothly away his grip tightened in Kieran’s jacket and he scooted forwards against his companion. Kieran grinned to himself, gunned the engine as they left the little courtyard, and heard Robin mutter “holy fuck” in his ear.

Kieran didn’t often ride with a pillion passenger, though it was not unheard of. Generally the little radio headsets were used to link up with other riders on the track or at road-meets, and allowed the sort of movie-style high-speed conversations which were all shouts and growls and sentences which made no sense after the fact. Kieran loved them. But now, as he got out of town and turned on the roundabout in order to speed down the bypass, all he could hear was Robin’s breathing in his ear. It was erotically close, and the sound was so intense that Kieran would have sworn he could actually feel the boy’s breath on the shell of his ear. He could certainly feel the hammer of his heart through the back of his jacket and the tightening of his fingers and thighs when the boy got nervous. Half-aborted words, muttered and indecipherable, formed a delicious counterpoint to the breathing. The bike thrummed under them, Robin leant into the corners as though he’d been riding pillion for years, and Kieran was more turned on than he could ever remember.

The ride was too short, too quick, even though Kieran drove much slower than he normally did. Riding without a helmet wasn’t the most pleasant experience in the world, but having Robin breathing in his ear certainly made it bearable. Kieran dialled the garage door from the integrated button on the dash and dropped the kickstand as the engine died. Robin hopped off the back of the bike in a rather ungraceful manner, pulled off his helmet and stood staring, slack-jawed, at the interior of the garage.

“Wow…”

Kieran stroked the Ducati’s engine cover as he reached under the seat for the crumpled shoe box. The big red bike ticked softly as it cooled.

“Are they all yours?” Robin’s fingers floated above the silky cover over another bike. He looked curious. “May I?”

“Sure. That’s the Kawasaki. She’s the fastest.” Kieran smiled as he took Robin’s helmet and hung it on the wall. “I’ve had some fun times on that bike.”

Robin pulled back the cover and purred over the acid green motorcycle. Kieran let him, watching the boy leave fingerprints on the chrome. Kieran adjusted his hard-on and fiddled with the Ducati’s cover while Robin explored the garage. The boy was fascinated by the bikes, and Kieran didn’t want to rush him away.

The Ducati might have been his favourite, but Kieran loved all his bikes. The green Kawasaki had tried to kill him more than once, and Kieran was disproportionately proud to have conquered a bike that had been pronounced ‘un-rideable’ by two of the country’s top racing drivers.

“I’ll take you out on it, if you want.” Kieran hooked a thumb into his front belt, his smile coolly confident. He fully expected Robin to gush in excitement, since it was the usual reaction to the indescribable lust brought on by very fast machines and close proximity to very attractive young men named Kieran, but Robin simply shrugged, took the shoe box from him without touching him and walked into the house.

He was not expecting the dogs.

“Boys!” Shadow, Inu, Suk, and Vuka stilled instantly, ears flipping in the direction of their master’s voice. “Enough now. Hush.”

“They’re your pets?” Robin arched an eyebrow, not turning his back on the four very large dogs. “I can’t believe Rebecca, or mum, never said anything about her new home containing a pack of wolves.”

“Well, your parents didn’t meet them.” Kieran petted each of the dogs and rubbed his thumbs along Shadow’s now grey-flecked muzzle softly. “But they’re good boys. Dinner time is it lads?” Kieran led the way through the house to the main kitchen, not Shastan’s work kitchen, and began to fix dinner up for the dogs. “Shadow is the oldest, then the twins, and Vuka is the baby. Aren’t you pup? Shas was too scared to introduce them to your parents, took him nearly six months to tell Rebecca about them, and that only happened because I just walked downstairs with them one day and found him macking on your sister in the hallway.” He put the bowls down for the dogs and opened the drinks fridge. “What can I get for you then beauti-… oh.” Kieran turned to find he was speaking to a kitchen empty except for himself and the noise of the dogs eating. “Right then.” He said into the empty space. “Fuck.”

When the dogs had finished, Kieran scooped up and washed the bowls, then walked right out into the garden without detouring through the rest of the house. He could hear them: his cousin, Rebecca, her girls, the dressmakers, and Robin, all nattering away, their voices full of shrill excitement. All of it carrying on without him. Kieran kicked away a stick one of the dogs had abandoned and watched all of his fluffy companions go chasing after it, all fully aware of their roles in the ensuing tug-of-war, and sighed.

“I’m sick of this wedding and it hasn’t even started yet.” He muttered.

Kieran was so used to getting what he wanted, and of holding the attention of the people in the room, that turning around to find Robin had wandered off was an almost physical shock. The boy was such a tease. Kieran had been so turned on by a combination of his beautiful figure and the soft breathing in his ear all the way there, but as he stood in the garden he realised that he had, in fact, said very little to the boy at all. Robin was obviously the sort who needed more persuasion. He certainly knew how to lead a guy on.

Eventually Kieran fussed the dogs and put them to bed in the den, then walked through the house to find Robin and Shastan chatting amiably in the passageway leading from the little sitting room to the kitchen. It suddenly occurred to him that they sould have met plenty of times before, but not only had Shastan never mentioned the boy to him, but Kieran obviously hadn’t been talked about in Robin’s company either. The boy looked up as Shastan turned, and Kieran did not miss the familiar flash of desire written across his features. Robin had kissed him back, even if it had only been quick, and Kieran held onto that knowledge. As of yet, no one he’d wanted had ever managed to resist him. Ignoring his cousin, Kieran walked right up to the boy and smiled at him.

“You want to come out with me on the bike?”

“Sure.” Robin shrugged, like he didn’t care. “I did get dressed up after all.”

Shastan arched an eyebrow as Kieran’s smile spread further. Robin walked past him in the direction of the garage.

“But it’s not a date.”

Kieran ran his tongue across his teeth. Shastan grabbed his bicep.

“Kier…”

“Oh he says that now…” Kieran shrugged off his cousin. “Don’t wait up Shas.”