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       “D'you wanna fuck?”

       At first it wasn’t the question so much as who had said it. Llewyn had been on the road long enough to learn that the guy whose employer called him Johnny Five was what swooning women might refer to as the “strong, silent type.” Just one glance was enough for Llewyn to agree with these hypothetical women, but while he did like Johnny’s face- not to mention the rest of him- he wasn’t one to romanticize him. Johnny Five was taciturn, only opening his mouth when it was strictly necessary.

       So once Llewyn had processed the words, and their speaker, a fresh wave of confusion assailed him. As far as he knew, road trips weren’t an ideal time to be propositioned. Though this was nothing like any road trip in which he’d ever dreamed of partaking. He was just out to get a gig, not to discover his life’s purpose- or, apparently, to get laid.

       “What?” Llewyn resisted the urge to glance backwards, to check to see if Roland Turner was listening. Likely he’d blacked out, as he sometimes did, trailing off in the middle of a sentence. Good fucking riddance. If Turner had heard Johnny, Llewyn knew he’d get an earful of drivel whether he responded positively or not.

       His eyes fastened to the unfurling road ahead, Johnny repeated himself in a low drawl. “Do you. Want. To fuck?”

       Okay. So it hadn’t been Llewyn’s imagination. Johnny Five, a man of few words, had just wasted his breath asking twice, which must mean he was serious. And that meant that a serious response was needed.

       Llewyn didn’t have to consider the offer too carefully. The curve of Johnny’s jawline and his brooding blue eyes left him unable to ignore the opportunity. However, the words of acceptance had to be chosen with finesse. He couldn’t say anything stupid and unnecessary, like “What do you mean?” “Do you want to fuck” obviously meant that Johnny wanted to fuck. “I’ve only been with one guy” wasn’t good enough either. Johnny wouldn’t care one way or another. Besides, it was better to leave the memories of his partner behind him, lest they trail after him all the way to Chicago like a ghost staring over his shoulder.

       Finally Llewyn settled on a shrug- not too casual, but not too committal- and said, with conviction, “Sure.” It had been a while, after all. Probably not since Jean, though he didn’t really keep track of such things. And it might help relieve the tension brought on by the hulking shitstain in the backseat.

       Johnny only nodded in response, and the deal was sealed. When and where it would happen were all on Johnny Five’s terms now. Llewyn only had to sit back and enjoy the ride.

       He stared out the window, at the vast winter wasteland bordering the freeway, and ran his hands through his cat’s fur. Well… the cat’s fur. If it were his, he should give it a name, but Turner’s unwanted intrusions on his peace left him with few opportunities to deeply ponder the subject. Considering his current living situation, or lack thereof, perhaps it was best not to grow too attached.

*

       With a bump, the car rattled its way up to a gas station, all but deserted save the weather-beaten old man who looked as if he was permanently fixed to the wall. If a rolling stone gathers no moss, this guy’s bound to turn green any moment now.  Llewyn stared at the faded, flaking paint and the dusty field ahead as Johnny Five hooked up the car to a tank of gas, handed the old man his payment, and proceeded to wrestle Roland Turner out of his seat. Llewyn did his best to ignore Turner’s grunting and swearing in the backseat as Johnny helped him to his feet. He was paying for half the trip, sure, but there was no way in hell he’d touch that one.

       Once the car was filled and Johnny had climbed back inside, Llewyn chanced to ask, “Bum a cigarette?”

        Johnny’s eyes remained on Turner’s retreating back. “I’m out.”

        Fine, then. Llewyn wasn’t particularly craving one; he’d just wished for something with which to occupy his hands now that the cat had crawled to the backseat. Maybe he'd try his luck at the next rest stop.

        Llewyn’s vision glazed as Turner staggered into what he couldn’t help but think of as an outhouse, for lack of a better word. Only to focus suddenly when Johnny announced, “Take your cock out.”

       Unexpected statements were generally to be met with absolute tact, but sometimes suavity was overrated.

       “What, here?” Llewyn blurted.

       A dry smirk lit Johnny’s otherwise grim face, his stormy eyes flashing. “Don’t think you’re getting a hotel.”

        No, Llewyn hadn’t been counting on a hotel, but he hadn’t expected broad daylight, either.

       “But what about…” He gestured vaguely to the pale old man outside, still steadfastly resting against the wall. Johnny’s eyes followed Llewyn’s motion, and he shrugged. “Don’t worry about him.”

        He turned to meet Llewyn’s gaze, pinning him down with a single glance. “Take your cock out.”

       Llewyn waited a few seconds, just to be sure, but Johnny gave no indication of wanting to strip. He simply stared silently, expectant. Waiting. Well, if that’s how it was going to be… Llewyn released a deep breath, before hastily unzipping and pulling down his pants and briefs. Not all the way down, of course. Just enough to give Johnny easy access. He found himself wishing the car seat reclined, at least to provide better coverage from possible peeping eyes, but even if it had, his guitar would have gotten in the way.

       Johnny spit into his palm and rubbed his hands together. With no further preliminaries, he reached over, leaving Llewyn unsure of where to look or put his hands. He settled on lying back as best he could, a thrill of anticipation surging through him. Or perhaps it was nervous energy, as if he were a teenager who’d just gotten to be alone with a girl for the first time. His breath tumbled out in a rush as Johnny’s hand closed over him.

        As most lovers did, Johnny started slow. His fist pumped Llewyn’s cock, and Llewyn bit his lip, pulsing at the touch. A light rain spattered the car window, momentarily diverting his attention. Even if that old man had a decent vantage point, he likely wouldn’t be able to see anything now. God bless Mother Nature…

        “That's good?” Johnny murmured huskily, sliding his fingers down every inch.

       “Yeah,” Llewyn whispered, his breath stuttering in his throat. “Lower…”

       Johnny obliged, exploring more sensitive areas, and Llewyn shuddered. The instinct was to flinch away, as if being tickled. And yet… he ached for Johnny’s touch, relishing each deliberate stroke.

       “Right there…” Just like that. Just like that. Although the heat had seeped out of the parked car, Llewyn’s entire body was alight.

        This was different from past experience. Llewyn had more or less instructed previous lovers to touch him the way he touched himself. Johnny appeared to have a different agenda. All five fingers were fully engaged, gripping a little too tight, but working at exactly the right speed. Llewyn couldn’t help but respond, rocking his hips forward to meet Johnny’s hand.

        “I should have had you wear double condoms,” Jean had said. “Condom on condom, then wrap it in electrical tape.”

       A buoyant urge to laugh burbled up in Llewyn, although he choked it back, not wanting Johnny to think he was out of his mind. You want safe sex, Jean? Can’t get much safer than this.

        He allowed his eyes to shut partially and his surroundings to melt away. All that remained was the sensation of Johnny’s hand wringing him dry.

        And… hot breathing on his neck.

        Opening his eyes, Llewyn found Johnny’s face hovering mere inches away. He was startled to see that Johnny’s eyes were naked with hunger, instead of displaying their usual nonchalance. A red flush pooled across his cheeks, and his breathing was only slightly less heavy than Llewyn’s.

       “God,” Johnny whispered raspily. The words seemed to fall involuntarily from his mouth. “Look at you…” His thumb flicked over the tip of Llewyn’s cock, and Llewyn bit his lip harder, choking back a groan.

       He’s… getting off… to getting me off? The notion was unthinkable. Surely Johnny Five had done this plenty of times, with no more interest for his partners than required. Yet once glance downward confirmed it. Johnny wasn’t mindlessly pleasuring Llewyn- he was enjoying it. A shiver of surprised satisfaction rippled through Llewyn. It felt strangely good to know that he wielded power over this man.

       Johnny eased in closer, his hand’s motion never ceasing, as if irresistibly drawn in. Part of Llewyn wanted to lean forward and press him against the window, not giving a fuck whether the old man outside saw or not. He wanted to crush Johnny’s lips to his and probe his teeth with his tongue. He wanted Johnny’s hands to roam his body, fingers trailing his ribcage and ripping his shirt open…

       But the other part of Llewyn shrank back, as if trying to sink into the car seat.

       “No, don’t… don’t do… that….”

       Obediently, Johnny pulled back. But only by a little. Seemingly overcome with desire, he rested his head on Llewyn’s shoulder, and tilted his mouth towards Llewyn’s neck.

       Ordinarily Llewyn would have liked something like that, but depending on how the marks were made, there was no telling how long they’d last. He couldn’t wear a scarf all the time, even in the winter, without someone remarking on it. Besides, that fat bastard Turner would surely have something to say if he spotted the imprints of Johnny Five’s teeth.

       “No.” Llewyn raised a trembling hand to lightly push Johnny’s head away. “Don’t do that either…”

       That was all he could say before his voice gave out in a wordless beg for more, more. His eyes fluttered closed, the muscles in his legs tensing. All he could hear was the rain, coming down a little harder now, providing a backdrop to the call-and-response in which he found himself engaged with Johnny.

        “You like that? Do you like that?”

        “Yes…” He was practically moaning, his dignity abandoned. “Yes, I do…”

        “That’s good, huh?”

       “Yes, that’s good…”

       Johnny’s voice purred in Llewyn’s ear. “Gonna make you come?”

       “Yes… YE-“

      Under Johnny’s touch, Llewyn writhed. His head slammed into the car seat’s headrest, his teeth bared against the guttural groan at the back of his throat. The car, the gas station, even Johnny all dissolved into white light. He was falling, falling endlessly, swept away on a helpless current…

        Llewyn opened his eyes to see cum spilling over Johnny’s fingers. The world spun circles around him. He lay motionless, lightheaded and limp, as Johnny gently stroked him one last time and withdrew.

        Sometimes sex made the participants more talkative, but Llewyn had never personally found that to be the case. However, he wasn’t sure he could let this incident reach a conclusion, without saying something. Simply ignoring Johnny was more blasé than Llewyn cared to look. But what was he supposed to say? “Thank you” was too trite, and overused besides. Llewyn considered offering to repay the favor, but soon decided against it. He’d seem too eager. Besides, another round out in the open was pushing their luck.

       Llewyn was on the verge of asking Johnny for a cigarette, before he remembered Johnny had run out. Well, no big deal there. He’d never fully understood why movies tended to show couples smoking after sex, as if it was romantic to run the risk of setting the house on fire. At least get out bed if you’re gonna do that.

        Feeling oddly helpless, Llewyn glanced towards Johnny, who solved the problem of Llewyn’s speechlessness almost immediately. Gazing out the window, he raised his hand to his lips and slowly licked each finger.

       That was it, then. With his tongue, Johnny Five had washed his hands of Llewyn Davis. The incident was not to be spoken of again.

       “You might wanna hit the restroom after him,” Johnny said.

       Llewyn cocked his head, his mind still too fuzzy from the afterglow to put together any puzzle pieces. “Wha’?”

       “You might,” Johnny repeated. “Want to hit the restroom. After him.” He jerked his thumb towards the outhouse, reaching for the door handle with his other hand. Llewyn stared into the now-pouring rain as Johnny Five slipped out of the car, prepared to wrangle Roland Turner once more.

       “Wow,” Llewyn mumbled to nothing in particular. Pulling his clothes back on, he fumbled for the door handle. Mere minutes ago, he’d expected Johnny to need a break himself, but apparently his stoicism had overcome even his arousal.

       Well… no matter. Llewyn hopped out of the car, the rain immediately dousing him. At least it was good while it lasted.