Joy Ride

Mack waited. This was Brad’s show -- let him make the first move. Coyly the kid approached him and ran a loving hand along the polished fairing at the front of Mack’s bike. “A motorcycle like this is almost human, kid,” Mack told him. He watched those strong fingers, so pale against the black paint, and imagined them on his arm, his chest, lower. “You stroke it the right way, it’ll purr like a tiger for you.”

Brad glanced up at him with a grin. “What’s it take to make a man like you purr, I wonder?” he wanted to know.

“I haven’t quite decided whether or not you seriously want to find out,” Mack replied.

That grin again, half-hidden by those long, blonde waves. With a flick of his head, Brad shook the hair from his face and stepped around the bike behind Mack. “Can I get on it?” Before Mack could answer, he pressed his face into the leather seat, still warm from the ride, and drew in a deep breath. “It smells like you.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Mack asked, turning around. As he stepped away from the motorcycle, Brad swung his leg over and pulled himself into the seat. “Hey, get off my bike.”

Wickedly, Brad dared him, “Come get me off.”