Backseat Driver

by Tenshi

The cavernous rear cargo area of an Encom company van was intended for carrying massive chunks of computer hardware, file boxes full of dot-matrix printouts, bulky data tapes, assorted electrical junk, and that was all. There was no consideration taken for the comfort of squishy human bodies, or where to put one's legs, or even just what to hang on to when Lora took a turn a hair too fast. Any person with the poor sense to hitch a ride in the back instead of the front got what he deserved, as far as the designers were concerned.

Alan Bradley, in possession of a remarkable amount of poor sense at the moment, found himself sprawled on top of Kevin Flynn for approximately the tenth time. There was no help for it, the van switched lanes and he just washed into Flynn along with a box of loose wire components and one of Lora's sweaters, currently the only other cargo occupying the back of the van.

"Sorry," Alan grunted, and struggled to right himself. "Though maybe I should just apologize in advance, because this is gonna keep happening all the way back to the office."

"Don't apologize, man." Flynn, in his rumpled jacket and jeans, and his thoroughly disreputable hair, looked utterly at home on the corrugated metal floor of the van. He had one arm flung over the wheel well and made it look like an armchair. "It's been the biggest thrill I've had all night."

"Says the man about to commit corporate espionage," Alan retorted, propping himself up on the relative security of the seat partition.

"You two okay back there?" Lora called, from the front. She had made a valid point that it was technically her van, that it would be less suspicious if she was driving it back by herself, and that there were several security cameras at the entrance to Encom's sprawling research complex. So that was how Alan Bradley came to be rolling around in the back of a company vehicle with Kevin Flynn, of all people, about to risk his entire career for a man he didn't even like very much. He liked him even less for answering Lora's question before he could.

"We're just peachy, darlin'!" Flynn drawled, but he was looking at Alan when he said it, and Alan thought he detected a wink. "You just keep on driving."

"Watch what you call her," Alan muttered.

"What?" The wink was much more in evidence this time. "Think I might steal her back?"

"Lora is not some sort of trinket to be won or stolen," Alan snapped. "And she'd knee you for even suggesting it."

"Ah," Flynn said, going misty-eyed. "Good memories."

"So it's not like you could steal her against her will."

"But I might steal her against yours, is that it?"

Alan hunched up against the seat-back and seethed.

"Don't worry, man," Flynn waved a hand. "She's good and done with me, trust me. She had her fling with the exciting troublemaker, she wants a nice steady guy like you now."

"Thanks," Alan said, with as much sarcasm as he could muster. The impact was lost, however, as Lora took another turn and it was Flynn's turn to go flying, scudding over the floor of the van and right between Alan's knees, knocking them both into the seat with a muffled thump.

"Sorry!" Lora said. "Traffic is terrible."

"Geddoffme!" Alan wheezed, trying to disentangle himself. Every move he made only seemed to ensnare him further in Flynn.

"Trying, trying," Flynn said, but he said it approximately four millimeters from Alan's left earlobe, and the resultant sensation went down Alan's spine like a power surge. Alan tried to shove Flynn off with one hand, but it meant losing his support against the floor and an ill timed pothole jostled them right back into each other's arms again.

"You know," Flynn said, and this time it was with his lips right against Alan's throat, which was a million times more dangerous, "She really ought to get those shocks checked."

"Tire alignment," Alan suggested.

"Hrmm," Flynn agreed.

"Can you--" Alan shifted his hips, but it didn't change matters. In fact it made them a good deal worse. "Can you get your hand off my crotch, please?"

"Hmm?" Flynn's querying noise was downright coy, and then he had the gumption to squeeze. "Sorry, Mr. Bradley," he said, in a little whisper-laugh in Alan's ear. "I thought that was the tire-iron."

In Alan's mind, his response was pithy and offered no room for argument, it was accompanied by a short sharp shove to Flynn's chest, depositing him on the opposite side of the van where he would remain, behaving himself, for the rest of the trip. In reality he balled his fists up in the front of Flynn's jacket, and said something like: uuuughhhgod, only less coherent.

"Well well well!" Flynn said, sounding pleased. "I guess some things don't change. Lora always did like 'em hung." He stroked his fingers upward, following the line Alan's cock made underneath his clothes. "So what's got you in this state, huh? Road vibration? The taste of danger?" He nuzzled his open mouth against Alan's ear. "Or maybe it's just me?"

"I don't even like you," Alan retorted, mustering a brief show of protest. It didn't last long; Flynn's teeth closed on Alan's earlobe, his hand tightened around the hard core of Alan's need, and the passing grumble of a truck mostly obscured the sound he made in response. Flynn heard it though, and his thumb nudged the button of Alan's khakis through its well-worn buttonhole.

"Baby," Flynn breathed, "liking me's got nothing to do with it."

That was a small consolation, as Flynn's deft gamer's fingers found the tab of Alan's zipper, and the first pair of metal teeth separated with a little tug.

"What are you doing?" Alan hissed. "Lora'll hear--"

"Lora'll only hear if you're loud," Flynn interrupted, and the zipper gave another inch. "So can you hold it in, or would you rather hold this in all night?"

"Goddammit," Alan said, in little more than a puff of breath, and Flynn took it for the surrender it was. The zipper purred down to the end of its path, and Flynn yanked out Alan's neatly-tucked shirt. Alan only had a moment to suck in a breath before Flynn's fingers were on his skin, brushing over the curve of muscle where his thigh ended and stroking up to free Alan's aching, hot sex from the frustrating confines of his shorts. There was another bump in the road, another slide, and all it did was force Alan's cock more eagerly into Flynn's open hand.

"Trust me," Flynn said, and for a second he was completely serious, so much that Alan believed him without hesitation. But then the maverick grin was back, and Flynn was sliding down onto his elbows, on either side of Alan's hips. "...It's not all in the wrist."

Alan's rebuff to that hit hard against the back of his teeth, and got no further. Flynn had lowered his head and drawn the full length of Alan's cock into his mouth with admirable ease. Alan had to stifle the groan. How long had he been hard, now? It wasn't the stupid stunt with Flynn changing his shirt, it had started before that. It had been the slightest brush of Flynn's hand on his shoulder as he waved them through the arcade, made only worse by the smell of him sitting too-close on the sofa: freshly laundered cotton, hot electronics, sweat and cherry-cola. It was indecent that any one man should have so much charisma. Alan had been worried about Lora being around him and exposed to it; he should have been worried about himself.

He couldn't manage to worry about anything at the moment, however, except for trying to keep quiet while Kevin Flynn worked over his cock with lips and teeth and tongue wholly devoted to the art, stroking, squeezing, dragging on Alan like a relentless tide. Does he have to be good at everything? Alan thought, in a fleeting moment of chagrin, and then he tangled his long hands in Flynn's tousled hair and fucked him in the mouth until he came. He offered no warning for it, no apology. Flynn knew what he was in for and he purred appreciation at the response to his efforts. Alan flooded Flynn's mouth with his back arched and teeth clenched, the rumble of the van enough to conceal the urgent rustle of motion as his hips jerked in release, and the smug, contented sound Flynn made when he swallowed.

Flynn propped himself up on his elbows, with the tip of Alan's cock still resting against his lips and some smartass remark about to fly.

"Get down," Alan said, shoving his clothes back together.

"What, not even a thank--"

"I said get down," Alan repeated, and the motion of the van made it easier to roll Flynn over onto his back, to pin him down to the metal floor. "We just got off the freeway, there's not much time."

"Oh," Flynn said, subdued, and then, "Oh!" in much better spirits, as Alan had just shoved Flynn's jacket and t-shirt halfway up his chest, exposing a swath of taut abdomen.

"I know you don't ever shut up but for Pete's sake shut up for this," Alan said, and pulled down the zipper of Flynn's jeans. Alan heard Flynn lean his head back against the wheel well, and he struggled for a moment with the physical and mental quandary in front of him. For the mental, he didn't like Flynn, and yet not only was he risking his job for him and possibly his clean record with the police, but he was about to blow him in the back of a company van. Well, that was a trade-off. Alan hated Dillinger too, and he wanted his Tron program free to do its job. And Flynn had blown him first. No real favors there, just exchange, fair and square. As for the physical problem, Alan looked down at the considerable heft of Flynn's cock burning between his hands, and wondered how he was supposed to get it all into his mouth.

"Almost there, guys!" Lora called from the front of the front, and Alan decided to just wing it. It wasn't as though he had ever even considered sucking off a guy before, but if he had it would never have occurred to him that it would be under such tight circumstances. He opened his mouth against the burning, velvety tip of Flynn's cock, and found that it fit his mouth in a way that was far from unpleasant. Flynn shivered underneath him, and it was gratifying enough to elicit a little pulse from Alan's sated cock. Flynn felt good in his mouth, and that was something Alan had not expected. He pushed his head down lower, feeling the slide of wet skin and trust over his tongue, the weight of Flynn's need pushing pleasantly at his jaw, and then he froze stone cold as the van slowed to a stop.

Alan looked up into Flynn's wide eyes, and Flynn moved his mouth around a few deliberate syllables. Gate. Don't stop.

"Hi!" Lora said to the guard on duty, rolling down her window. "Couldn't sleep, thought I'd make up some work."

Oh god oh god oh god, Alan thought, but Flynn was writhing underneath him, rocking his body up into Alan's mouth. Alan could hear the shot-bead chain of the guard's pen rattling as he wrote Lora's name down on his clipboard, he could hear Lora rummaging around for her ID, he could hear the brief, pleasant exchange about the weather. He heard all that, and also the furtive noises of desperation Flynn was making into the collar of his jacket, the thin screech of his fingernails clawing at the metal floor.

"You have a good night, Miss Baines," The guard said, and the van was rolling forward again, through the metal fence, onto the long drive up to the Encom parking lot. Alan heard the clang of the gate sliding closed again behind them. They were in, and as though that was all it took Flynn came in Alan's mouth in a silent rush. Alan let it hit the back of his throat and swallowed hard; he wasn't about to let Flynn get the better of him in that regard. There was a kind of power to it, and when it was over he was almost sorry. Alan dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, lifted his head, and looked up at Flynn. Flynn was still breathing hard, his clothes undone, cock out, eyes alight. He smiled at Alan and Alan smiled back. For an instant they were in perfect, genuine understanding, and Alan had the uncanny feeling that no matter how the night's adventure turned out, he would never again be free of Kevin Flynn.

It bothered him a little bit how much that didn't bother him.

"So much for your nice clean-cut reputation," Flynn whispered, and then he did the one thing Alan did not expect. He kissed him. Full on the mouth, their tongues tangling with the taste of each other, and one hand cradling the back of Alan's head in a way that was downright affectionate.

"You can come up to the front, Honey," Lora said, while her honey was still busy sucking on Flynn's tongue.

Flynn pulled away slowly, letting Alan's lower lip slide out between his teeth. "I'll be right there, sweetheart," he said, loud enough for Lora to hear.

"You weren't the honey I meant, Flynn," Lora shot back. "It's okay, I'm pulling us around back."

"Well, you heard her, Honey," Flynn said, and winked at Alan. "Get your ass up there."

"I'd better," Alan breathed, making sure his pants were zipped. "I don't know what might happen to it back here."

"Oh," Flynn said, airily, "I don't think anything's going to happen to yours."

Alan already had both hands on the back of the seat to climb over; when he lost his balance he had no road bump to blame it on. Was Flynn actually suggesting--no. Better not to even think of it. For one thing, they were already at the loading dock, and there wasn't time for another round. Flynn swatted Alan across the ass to get him into the front seat a little faster, and then he dangled his arms over the seat, smirking at them both in the rear-view mirror.

"So!" he said. "...Are we there yet?"


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