GENRE: Gay Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 5,316 words
There’s no such thing as a free ride. Aidan may be only twenty, but he’s already learned that the hard way. Hitch-hiking up from London to Glasgow to keep a promise to a man he’ll never see again, Aidan’s fully prepared to offer payment in kind for his lifts. He’s not expecting a good-looking older bloke to pick him up in a Mercedes -- nor that he’ll find John such good company. After a few short hours together Aidan’s already starting to care what John thinks of him.
When slow traffic forces them to get a room for the night, Aidan’s not sure what to do. Putting out as a thank you to a stranger is one thing, but can he really go through with it with the first person he’s come to care for since he made that promise?
And what’s going to happen when they reach their destination?
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.
“Was hoping we’d make it up to Carlisle. Chance’d be a bloody fine thing.”
Aidan perked up. “Carlisle? That’s almost in Scotland, innit?”
“That it might be, but we won’t be getting there tonight. Reckon we’d better find a Travelodge.” John laughed at Aidan’s sharp look. “Don’t worry, lad, your virtue’s safe with me. You could always scream for help, any road. Walls are so thin in these places you can hear a gnat fart three floors down.”
Aidan laughed, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Right, the bloke might say he wouldn’t touch him, but if he was paying for the room, he had to be expecting Aidan to be a bit grateful, didn’t he? Aidan knew how the world worked. You scratch my arse, I’ll scratch yours. He wondered why it bothered him. John was a decent bloke, not bad looking -- fuck it, he was just Aidan’s type. He liked them older, always had. Andy, who’d been the first bloke he’d ever, well, felt stuff for, not just fancied, had been way older than him. Older than this bloke, even. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been expecting to have to pay his way. So why would sleeping with John be any different from blowing a trucker in a lay-by?
Because it was John, Aidan realised. Aidan liked John. Aidan liked the way he spoke, the way he didn’t give anything away. The way he seemed so in control when he drove. Aidan never felt in control of anything in his fucked-up excuse for a life.
He didn’t want John to think of him as just some pretty-boy up for a shag for the price of a burger and a room.
“Bloody hell, lad, cat got your tongue?”
“Oh -- yeah, sorry, mate,” Aidan mumbled. He rallied. “So, going for the honeymoon suite, are we?”
John raised an eyebrow. “Packed your negligee, have you? Hope you’re not expecting champagne. Be wasted on a lad like you, any road. Half a glass and you’d be whining you’d rather have a lager.”
They pulled off the roundabout and drew up at the multi-storeyed brick box that proclaimed itself a Travelodge. “Bloody hell, I get stiff driving so long,” John complained, stretching out the kinks as he got out of the car.
“It’s old age, innit?” Aidan grinned. “Creeping up on you. Next thing you know you’ll be banging on about the good old days and wearing carpet slippers to the shops.”
John snorted. “And you can have a bit more respect for your elders and betters. Come on, or we’ll miss breakfast.”
The woman at reception didn’t look twice at them. Maybe she thought they were father and son.