Colorado Car Crash
Brandon Wood
Copyright 2011 by Brandon Wood
Smashwords Edition
“Screw it,” Will said, unbuttoning his khakis and pulling out his dick as he sped down the deserted interstate. “I've been driving for hours and haven't passed a car yet.”
The drive from Chicago to Denver had been long and showed no signs of ending any time soon. The road was dark, flat, and seemed like it was never going to end; and Will was tired, bored, and incredibly horny.
Windows rolled down, top off, wind rushing through his hair and the music blaring, Will began to rub his dick slowly. He had all the time in the world. No need to rush. His left hand rested lazily on the steering wheel while he right hand gripped his cock with an intensity that he reserved for only his solo sessions. He would never grab another guy so hard. But Will liked it rough.
From the base of his dick to the tip Will moved his hand and felt himself growing longer and harder with each stroke. Stars that dotted the open sky sped by in the same blur that encompassed the surrounding landscape and thoughts fled his lust-filled mind as he pressed on the gas, accelerating to a speed that would be dangerous on any normal, populated road. Out here in the middle of nowhere, Will felt no need for caution.
He thought about nothing in particular. Each stroke was accompanied by a small groan but his mind remained empty, his one and only thought being the next stroke, the next flick of his wrist that would send a shuddering sensation of pleasure through him, warming his body even in the cool night air.
As he was beginning to peak, his dick wet with pre-cum, his headlights illuminated a lone cow standing in the middle of the road. He slammed on his brakes and jerked the steering wheel hard to the right to avoid the cow. Turning left would have slammed him directly into the side of a mountain. He hoped only that his brakes would catch before he careened off the edge and into the darkness. His hope was replaced by an a sense of impending death when his car continued to skid. He felt the sensation of falling and managed to cuss before everything went black.
Will loved to curse. When he came to, he could still taste his favorite obscenity on his lips. That didn't make sense, because people couldn't taste words. Could they? Will wasn't sure. He felt like he was tasting a bad word. Or maybe that was blood. Yes, definitely blood. He licked his lips and could taste the warm stuff trickling down his chin. Had he remembered to shave this morning? He couldn't go to the meeting in Denver looking like a hobo. He had to convince the company headquarters that his branch was solvent—it wasn't—and that it was worth keeping open for the next fiscal year—it wasn't. Why were his thoughts so scattered?
“Did I piss myself?” he said. He thought that's what he said. It didn't sound right, speaking, as if his mouth belonged to a stranger. Why was he so wet, though? He could hear the water flowing around him, could feel it running across his body but that didn't make sense, either. How could there be water in his car? He was driving to Denver to save his company. To save his own job, really. He didn't care much about his coworkers who were all so worthless that his branch was going under fast.
Going under just like his car was. His head felt like it was full of cobwebs but the adrenaline was kicking in and he managed to fumble with his seat belt until he realized that it was stuck. That he was stuck. And the water kept rising, up to his chest now. Kick and squirm as he might, he didn't budge an inch.
He thought he was going to die when a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled from the car. “Don't worry,” a voice said, angelic in its sincerity, “you're safe now. Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Will said, voice functioning again.
“We need to get you to a hospital.” Will looked at the guy whose voice was so calming, so deep. His savior looked beautiful in the moonlight with his shaggy brown hair and brilliant brown eyes that twinkled like the stars. Will wasn't used to seeing stars in the city. Wasn't used to seeing such pretty eyes on a handsome, rugged man, either.
“I'm fine,” Will said, feeling all right.
“An ambulance is on the way. I saw your car go over the edge and called 911. You're probably in shock.” Will felt his pants being pulled up and suddenly remembered what he had been doing before the car crash. He thought he heard the guy mumble “Big boy” as if in admiration but he couldn't be sure. “Your pants must have come undone when I pulled you out, or during the crash,” the guy said, sounding mildly embarrassed.
Will felt his cheeks flushing, but from the wreck, his own embarrassment, or from a biting desire for his stocky savior, he couldn't tell. “What's your name?” Will said.
“Jackson,” he replied. “What's yours?”
“Will. Thanks for saving me, Jackson,” Will said.
“No need to thank me,” Jackson said, gently brushing a lock of Will's auburn hair behind his ear. Through the pain—Will couldn't tell what hurt more: his head, his chest that must have slammed into the steering wheel, or his lip that was still bleeding—Will felt a stirring in his heart that had to be from longing and not from physical injury.
He tried to sit up but Jackson rested his hands on Will's shoulders and kept him down. “Really, I'm fine,” Will said.
Jackson placed a finger over Will's lips. “Just rest until the ambulance gets here. You could have a concussion. If you are fine, the doctors will be able to tell pretty quick, right?” Jackson kept a hand rested on Will's shoulder.
Will smiled and closed his eyes, content to wait for the ambulance and comforted by Jackson's touch.
The ride to the hospital was long enough that Will was glad he wasn't more seriously injured. The paramedics commented on that fact, saying that they had anticipated needing to call in a helicopter to fly Will to the hospital. Once they had assessed his injuries, they had decided that he probably was fine—miraculously, they said—and could handle the drive. Once the doctors at the hospital had determined that he wasn't concussed, he was discharged from the hospital.
Jackson was waiting for him in the lobby. “Hey,” Jackson said, standing with a smile on his face when he saw Will approaching. “You going to live?”
“Healthy as a horse,” Will said. “Doctors said I must have a tough skull. I think that was their way of saying that I'm a little thickheaded.”
Jackson laughed and Will couldn't recall hearing a more pleasant sound. “You didn't have to come all the way out here and wait on me. I really appreciate it, though.”
“Well,” Jackson said, looking at his feet as if he was nervous. Why would he be nervous? He was so tall, so built, so perfect with his deep brown eyes that threatened to pull Will under their spell faster than his car had sunk in the river. “I figured you might need a ride somewhere. You know, since your car is stuck in the river. Have you talked to the police yet?”
“I did,” Will said with a grimace. Filling out that police report had not been fun. The cops hadn't believed that there had been a cow in the road—Will couldn't blame them; he barely believed it himself—until the paramedics had corroborated his story, telling the officer that they had seen a cow on the side of the road. It had, apparently, slipped away from a farm not far from where Will had wrecked. “All of this because of a stupid cow.”
Jackson looked away sheepishly. “About that cow,” he said. “I'm pretty sure it was mine. I feel awful about what happened. I have insurance for just such an event, though, so everything will be covered.
For some reason that Will couldn't explain, he didn't feel the least bit angry at Jackson. “It's not your fault that the stupid cow snuck away and stood in the road.”
“I guess not,” Jackson said, still unwilling to meet Will's gaze. Will just wanted to see those deep brown eyes again that were framed by long lashes that seemed perfectly out of place on Jackson's masculine face with his hard jaw that was covered in stubble. “I still feel bad. At least let me drive you to my place until you figure something else out.”
“That sounds great,” Will said in way that he hoped would put Jackson at ease. He really wasn't mad at Jackson. How could he be? The man had saved his life. And there was no doubt that he was a man. Though he looked to be in his early twenties, Jackson had a full chest of hair that poked out of the top of his white button-up. He looked the perfect image of a western cowboy with the shirt, his jeans, and the large buckle on his belt. Will was still wearing his dress clothes that were bloody and torn from the wreck.
“How are you feeling?” Jackson asked when they were in his truck.