 |
By *c8484 OP Man
6 days ago
Dunfermline |
Kyle adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as the truck rolled down the M20, Dover signs beginning to appear with increasing regularity. The late summer sun hung low over the motorway, casting a warm, golden hue over the endless rows of lorries and the occasional field of sunflowers blurring past the window.
“Not bad for your first run,” came the voice beside him, rough, slightly amused. “You didn’t stall once, didn’t scrape the mirrors, and you even managed to keep it in the right gear through most of Kent. I’d say that’s promising.”
Kyle smiled, a little sheepish, and darted a glance sideways. “You make it sound like I passed a test.”
Rory grinned, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. “That’s because you did. Most rookies can’t drive and listen at the same time. You managed both. Barely.”
There was a teasing edge to Rory’s voice, but it didn’t sting. He was the kind of man Kyle liked, tough, a little rugged, with a body like someone who didn’t work out but worked hard. Faded tattoos covered his forearms, disappearing under the snug fit of his black muscle shirt. His jeans were tight, dusty from days on the road, and his boots looked like they’d seen every service station from Calais to Kraków.
They’d only met that morning, back at the depot in Essex. Rory had been leaning against his cab, sipping from a thermos, while Kyle tried not to look too nervous climbing into the passenger seat of what would be his first international job.
“You driven long-haul before?” Rory had asked then, eyes scanning him.
“Only in training. I’ve never actually crossed a border.”
Rory had raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re about to see a lot of tarmac, lad. Hope you like cheap coffee and questionable showers.”
Now, hours later, the cab was filled with a comfortable silence broken only by the hum of the road. Kyle felt more at ease around Rory than he expected. He cracked a Red Bull and passed one to his companion.
“Thanks,” Rory said, stretching with a long groan. “We’ll park up near the port. Get a few hours in the bunks before tomorrow. No sense queuing for the ferry now.”
Kyle nodded, trying not to focus on the word bunks. The thought of crawling into a compact space above Rory’s bed, in a cabin heavy with the scent of diesel, sweat, aftershave was doing something strange to his pulse.
They parked in a layby near the port, the sun gone, the coast now a shadowy silhouette in the dark.
Rory climbed out to stretch and smoke, leaning against the lorry’s grill, arms folded. Kyle watched him from the step, trying not to stare at the tattoos that coiled around his forearms or the way his shirt clung to his back when he moved.
“You’ll get used to the rhythm,” Rory said, flicking ash. “Eat, drive, sleep. Talk if you want. Don’t if you don’t. The road takes care of the rest.”
They climbed back into the cab as the wind picked up. Rory tossed his boots off and nodded toward the bunks.
“You’re up top,” he said. “It’s cooler up there.”
Kyle climbed in, laying on his side and facing the wall, trying to still the nervous energy in his chest. Below him, the sound of Rory settling in, shifting the blanket, the occasional creak of the bunk.
Then he heard it.
Soft rustling— fabric shifting under deliberate hands. Then the slow, unmistakable sound of a zip being undone. A laboured breath. The quiet creak of the bunk springs shifting under Rory’s weight.
Kyle held his breath
Surely he was mistaken. Maybe Rory was just getting comfortable, adjusting his clothes, moving his blanket…
But then came the rhythm. Subtle, steady. A faint, the low sound of breath catching in a man’s throat. The kind of sound you only made when you were alone… or didn’t care who was listening.
Heat surged up Kyle’s neck, rushing to his face, his chest, then lower—much lower. His jeans were suddenly being stretched tight, the seam pressing hard against his cock as he shifted awkwardly in the top bunk, trying to stay quiet, trying to process what he was hearing.
Rory was masturbating. Right below him.
Kyle could picture it without even trying—Rory lying back, eyes closed, that muscled chest rising and falling under the thin blanket. One hand wrapped around his cock, moving slow and steady, knowing exactly what he liked. The way his strong fingers would slide up and down, only pausing each time his grip tightened near the head.
Another soft sound. A muffled groan. The sound of splashing as wave after wave of hot cum hit Rory’s jeans.
Kyle swallowed hard. His hand drifted toward the button of his own jeans before he caught himself. He couldn’t. Could he?
His cock strained, throbbing ans he thought of every sound from below. He bit his lip and turned his face into the pillow, trying to stay quiet, though his hips had started to shift on their own—just a little grind against the mattress for relief.
Rory spoke.l from the bunk below.
His voice was low, gravel-thick and casual, like he’d been waiting to break the silence. “You okay up there, rookie?”
Kyle froze. His mouth had gone completely dry. “Yeah,” he croaked, barely managing the word. “Just… tired.”
A pause. Then the sound of Rory’s slow chuckle, warm and dangerous in the dark.
“Well,” Rory said, his voice curling up like smoke, “if you get restless…”
The mattress shifted below—just a little, but Kyle could tell Rory had turned onto his side now, maybe facing the wall… or maybe facing up, toward him.
“You know where I am.”
Kyle lay there, pulse racing, cock straining in his jeans, every muscle on fire. He didn’t answer.
But he didn’t sleep, either. |
