Chapter 4: Parking Lot Reclamation
The walk to the street took him around the back, to the street beyond, near the dumpster enclosure. The walk felt longer than usual. Doug had given him back his shift, maybe... but what was he hinting at? More than just 'do whatever I say' to stay? What else was there to do? And that damn Ethan guy.
Halfway to his car, he saw him.
Ethan leaned against the driver’s side door of a sleek, black sedan, directly under one of the few functioning lights. He wasn’t in his gym clothes anymore. He wore dark jeans and a simple grey hoodie, unzipped. He looked casual. Relaxed. Like he was waiting for a friend.
Except his right hand was moving slowly, deliberately, inside the open fly of his jeans. His head was tilted back against the car window, eyes closed, a faint smirk on his lips. As Javier froze, ten feet away, Ethan’s eyes slid open. They locked onto Javier’s. His hand didn’t stop.
“There you are,” Ethan said, his voice a low rumble that carried easily across the empty space. “Took you long enough. Doug give you a stern talking-to?”
Javier’s mouth was dry. He could only stare at the rhythmic movement of Ethan’s wrist, the casual obscenity of it here, in the open. His own bruised shame curdled into something hotter, angrier. “I got my schedule changed,” Javier said, his voice tight. “Days. I’m on days now.”
Ethan laughed, a soft, mean sound. “Ouch. That’s worse than getting fired, isn’t it? All those people. All those eyes.” He pushed himself off the car door, taking a slow step forward. His hand was still working. “But you know, I’m a problem-solver. And it looks like you’ve still got a problem.”
He nodded downward, not at himself, but at Javier.
Javier glanced down. The old, faded grey sweats he wore had a distinct, dark patch right over his crotch. And he was tenting his sweats in a way that suggested he did, indeed, have a problem. Hardening of the Penis artery. The spot was unmistakable. And growing. His face flamed.
“Missed a spot, cleaner boy,” Ethan purred. He was close now, just a few feet away. The night smells of cold asphalt and distant trash were suddenly cut by the clean, sharp scent of Ethan’s soap. And something else, musky and warm. “This one’s on the house.”
“Fuck you,” Javier spat, the words bursting out of him. He took a step back. “You got me busted. You think this is a game?”
“Everything’s a game,” Ethan said, and his smirk faded into something more serious, more intense. His movements sped up slightly. “You were playing it in there. Don’t pretend you weren’t. That last little grab you took? That wasn’t an accident.”
Javier wanted to deny it. The words stuck in his throat. He remembered the feel of the fabric, the shape beneath it. The reckless, stupid stroke of his knuckles.
“See?” Ethan said, reading his silence. He took another step, closing the final distance. “You don’t need to be ashamed of what you want. Especially after you’ve already tasted it. You know it's good.”
Ethan withdrew his hand then, and Javier saw it was fully hard, the full eight inch length of him emerging from the open denim following his hand.
“You gonna walk home? Walk home to whatever empty room you’re paying for, and jack off thinking about this all night? Or are you gonna take a second tern, finish what you started before Dougie the buzzkill showed up?”
A car sped by on the street, its headlights sweeping across them for a blinding second. Javier flinched, expecting the blare of a horn, a shout. Nothing came. The world didn't care what he did next. Mama wouldn't know unless he told her. Even Doug--the bastard!--wouldn't know. Only God Himself... his grandmother, Abuela Maria had called him, the Forgiving One. Was she right?
His heart hammered against his ribs. The anger was still there, a solid knot in his gut. But under it, a traitorous current pulled at him. The memory of taste. The weight of Ethan’s hand in his hair. The sheer, obliterating power of not having to think for a few minutes.
“Out here?” Javier heard himself say, his voice ragged.
“Why not?” Ethan’s hand returned to himself, stroking slowly, an open invitation. A taunt. “It’s just us. And the security camera on that pole hasn’t worked in two years. I checked.”
Javier’s eyes darted to the black dome mounted high on a light pole. It was angled away, pointed at the gym’s front door. A dummy. A plastic eye seeing nothing.
He looked back at Ethan. At the expectation on his face. It wasn’t kindness. It wasn’t even desire, not really. It was possession. A test.
Javier’s fingers were cold. He flexed them. The image of his tiny, silent room in his Grandmother's apartment waited for him—the thin mattress, the silent TV, the crushing weight of the same tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, all on the day shift.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
He didn’t sink to his knees this time. He got close, so close the heat from Ethan’s body washed over him. He could see the individual stitches on his hoodie. He could smell the faint, metallic hint of his own earlier spew on Ethan’s skin.
Ethan’s breathing hitched, just slightly. The triumph in his eyes was bright and cruel.
Javier reached out. His hand, calloused from chemicals and mop handles, closed around Ethan’s wrist and stopped its motion. He felt the strong tendons, the rapid pulse beneath the skin. For a second, the two of them were frozen like that, in a silent contest.
Then, keeping his eyes locked on Ethan’s, Javier guided Ethan’s hand away. Then, violently, he spit on the ground, an inch away from the expensive running shoes. Then he looked up, directly into Ethan’s eyes.
“Fuck no!”
Then as fast as he could, Javier turned and walked away. Away from temptation. away from this gringo devil. Just like Abuela Maria said they were.
“What the fuck...?!” Ethan swore as he stood there, one aching ball sack and an eight inch rock-hard cock, slowly softening in his empty hand.
In the darkness, walking as fast as he could, the defiance in Javier was a weak, guttering flame. But it was there. He was tired of being the one who cleaned up the mess. He was tired of being invisible, or worse, a punchline. Ethan saw that in him. Ethan actually wanted him. Even after everything. It was a terrible, seductive draw. Javier shook his head. The price was too high. What would his mom think of him, knowing he’d been on his knees, in front of that white bastard.
He looked down and swore. The outline of his lengthening cock stood out on his right pant leg. it was longer than Ethan's by several inches.
NO! he did not want ‘that!’ At the thought, his cock jumped that much more. Fully erect, fully hard now. He adjusted himself, but it didn’t help. “What would mama think? or Grandma? Abuelo Maria! They'd warned him about white men who like ‘to play with little Mexican boys’. They win, she said. You lose.
Not this time!