If its Rocking...

The movie had been too long. Not bad—just too long. Leonard adjusted his windbreaker, the zipper caught at his belly as he waddled slowly across the fifth level of the concrete garage, lit in erratic yellows by tired fluorescent bulbs. The night pressed in from all sides, a little colder than he’d expected for early spring. The lot was mostly empty now. A few stray sedans loitered like forgotten belongings, their windshields dark, reflecting nothing.

He fumbled with the key fob in his hand, fat fingers clumsy with the cold. He had parked closer to the exit ramp than he remembered, and was just beginning to feel the absurdity of walking alone through such an enormous, echoing space when he heard a voice.

"Long movie, huh?"

Leonard turned, mildly startled. A man leaned against the concrete pillar a few yards away—stocky, maybe in his mid-fifties, balding under a trucker cap, and smoking a cigarette with the weary grace of someone who had never really tried to quit. His jeans were worn at the knees, and the puffed black vest he wore over a thermal shirt gave him the look of someone who’d been out here longer than just tonight.

"Yeah," Leonard replied cautiously. "Three hours and change. I think they were proud of it."

The man chuckled, a short rasp of sound. "What'd you see?"

Leonard hesitated. "That astronaut one. The artsy kind. Not much space in it, weirdly."

"Ah," the man said, exhaling smoke through his nose. "I saw the first ten minutes of that. Fell asleep. Dreamed I was married to Sigourney Weaver."

Leonard laughed despite himself. It came out more as a wheeze. The other man smiled crookedly and pushed himself off the pillar.

"I'm Mitch," he said, offering a hand.

Leonard took it. His palm was dry and rough. "Leonard."

"Leonard," Mitch repeated. "Well, Leonard, it’s late. You're out here alone. I’m out here alone. Maybe it’s fate. Or just bad timing."

Leonard smirked politely and started walking again. Mitch fell into step beside him.

"You always come out here this late?" Mitch asked.

"Not really. I usually catch matinees. Cheaper. Less chance of someone talking through the whole thing."

"Yeah. But there’s something nice about the late shows. Everyone’s tired. Softer. Things feel... I dunno. Loose."

They reached Leonard’s car, a silver Honda Civic he hadn’t washed since winter. He stood by the driver’s door, fishing in his coat pocket again.

"You married?" Mitch asked.

Leonard blinked. "I was. Long time ago."

"Me too. Once." Mitch leaned a little against the car’s hood, watching him with a glint in his eye that Leonard didn’t quite know how to read.

"You’re not cold?" Leonard asked, to shift the subject.

"Nah. Got a little propane heater in the van. Parked down on 3B."

Leonard finally found the fob again and unlocked the door. But he didn’t open it.

"Hey," Mitch said, voice low now. "I don’t mean to be forward, but I’m guessing you don’t exactly have somewhere you have to be tonight."

Leonard looked at him. His hand hovered near the door handle.

"And I don’t either. And I thought... well..." Mitch shrugged and gave a lopsided smile. "You wanna come down to the van? Hang out a bit? We could have some fun. Nothing crazy. Just... talk. Maybe not talk."

Leonard stood very still. He looked at Mitch, then at the vast ceiling above them, then at the exit ramp curving away like a tongue disappearing into darkness.

His heart was doing a funny thing. A little flutter, not fear exactly. Or maybe not just fear.

"Your van," he said slowly. "It got windows?"

Mitch grinned. "One. And it’s foggy."

Leonard closed the car door again without ever opening it. "Alright," he said. "Lead the way."

They walked in silence at first, footsteps echoing down the ramp, past yellowed EXIT signs and rust-darkened pipes that snaked along the ceiling. The fifth level faded behind them, and with it, the safety of the familiar—the car, the mall, the world of popcorn machines and Pepsi fountains. Now they were descending into something else.

Leonard kept his eyes mostly on Mitch’s back. The man’s gait was loose but confident, like someone who had lived through worse things than rejection in a parking garage. Leonard’s own shoes squeaked faintly with each step. His joints complained, but his mind raced faster than his feet. What the hell are you doing, Leonard?

He could still turn around. He could mumble something about forgetting a pill or being too tired and leave with his self-respect intact—or whatever scrap of it he had left.

But he didn’t.

They reached Level 3B. The air was somehow colder here, heavier. There was a low hum from a broken overhead fan, and a flickering light near the far end cast long, jerky shadows on the concrete floor.

Mitch's van sat in a corner space beneath the shadow of a support beam. It was an older model—brown and dented, with a faded sticker on the back that read “NO BAD DAYS,” half-peeled into something vaguely ominous.

Mitch clicked the key fob, and the back doors made a soft thunk. He opened them.

A thin strip of carpet lined the floor. There were two large cushions, a camping lantern casting warm amber light over a few scattered magazines and an old thermos. A blanket—fleece, red and slightly balled with age—lay folded in the back. The faint scent of weed, coffee, and pine air freshener wafted out like the remnants of a life lived mostly in motion.

Mitch climbed in and turned, gesturing with his head. “C’mon. It’s warmer than it looks.”

Leonard hesitated just long enough to feel the shape of his own fear. It was familiar. The same feeling he’d had in junior high locker rooms, or the first time he let a man’s hand rest too long on his at a chess club mixer in 1982. A panic born not of the act, but of being seen wanting it.

He ducked his head and climbed in.

The van creaked under his weight. He settled onto the cushion across from Mitch, who had already poured something from the thermos into two chipped enamel mugs.

“It’s just coffee,” Mitch said. “Strong enough to bring back the dead, though.”

Leonard took the mug. Sipped. It was bitter and black, no sugar, but it grounded him. The warmth spread through his chest, chasing off the cold.

They sat like that for a moment, the door ajar, letting the city’s breath creep in. Mitch leaned back, watching Leonard over the rim of his cup.

"You always this quiet?" Mitch asked.

Leonard shrugged. “Usually.”

“That’s okay. You look like someone who thinks in complete sentences. I like that.”

Leonard gave a soft huff of amusement. “You do this a lot? Talk to strangers in garages?”

“Only the fat ones,” Mitch said, smiling wide enough to show a missing tooth near the back.

Leonard snorted. “Great. A chubby-chaser in a van.”

“Could be worse. Could be someone who thinks we’re invisible.”

There was a silence that lingered, but not uncomfortably. Mitch reached into a milk crate beside him and pulled out a little Bluetooth speaker. He tapped at his phone, and a scratchy Al Green song began to drift through the air, soft and warm and ridiculous.

Leonard looked at him. Mitch was close now. Not touching. But watching him in that same unblinking way he’d done upstairs.

“I don’t usually do this,” Leonard said.

Mitch leaned forward a little. His voice lowered.

“I know. But I think you want to tonight.”

The weight of that hung between them—truth wrapped in smoke and possibility. Leonard’s mouth was dry. He set the coffee aside. His hands were sweating.

Mitch reached out, slow. A hand on Leonard’s knee. Not forceful. Just there. Warm through the fabric.

Leonard didn’t pull away.

Instead, he let out a slow breath, closed the van doors behind them with one hand, and let the darkness finish the sentence he wasn’t ready to say.

Leonard's heart thumped in his chest, a rhythm that matched the pulse of the garage lights outside. He took a deep breath and leaned back, allowing the warmth of the van to envelop him. The coffee had turned lukewarm in his hand, forgotten. He swallowed, and the silence grew thick with anticipation. Then, with a sudden resolve, he set the mug aside and met Mitch's gaze. The hand on his knee grew heavier, a silent question lingering in the air. With a nod so subtle it could have been missed, he gave his answer. And with that nod, the walls of the van seemed to close in, shrinking the space between them until there was only the warmth of their bodies and the promise of something new in the cold night of the parking garage.

Mitch leaned in closer, the hand on Leonard's knee moving upward to his thigh with a gentle but firm grip. His eyes searched for any sign of hesitation in Leonard's, but all he found was a flicker of excitement. "You want to make this interesting?" he murmured. With a deliberate motion, he unzipped his trousers, revealing the bulge that had been growing since their conversation started. He reached down and freed his erection, looking up at Leonard expectantly. "You want to suck my dick?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and challenge.

Leonard's heart thundered as he leaned over, his mouth watering slightly. He took the head of Mitch's cock into his mouth, his eyes closing with the intimacy of the act. The salty, musky taste was foreign but not unwelcome. He felt the man's body tense as he took more of the length in, his tongue exploring the unfamiliar terrain. Meanwhile, Mitch's hands began to roam over Leonard's body, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, pulling at the waistband of his pants. The sound of fabric being tugged and unzipped filled the small space of the van, punctuating the quiet suckling sounds coming from between them.

Leonard's mouth grew slick with saliva as he took more of Mitch's thick cock into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing with each bob. His hands tentatively found their way to the base, feeling the pulse of the man's desire throb in his palm. His throat opened to accommodate the length, and the way the taste of him grew more and more addictive with each passing second. The hand on his head grew more insistent, guiding him in a rhythm that grew faster, harder. The van's metal walls echoed with their muffled sounds—the wet smack of flesh on flesh, the ragged breaths that grew more desperate. Leonard's eyes watered, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he took it as a sign that he was doing something right, that he was giving this stranger something he needed.

Mitch abruptly pulled his cock from the warm, wet embrace of Leonard’s mouth, a bead of pre-cum glistening on his tip. "Not yet," he whispered, his breath hot and heavy.

Leonard sat back, panting, and looked down at himself, surprised to find that his entire body had been bared to the cold garage air. His shirt was off, revealing his round belly and heaving chest, his pants and underwear a rumpled mess around his ankles. His cock stood at attention, a testament to his own arousal. The realization of his vulnerability sent a thrill through him, his cheeks flushing.

Mitch took a moment to appreciate the view. The soft folds of Leonard’s flesh, the pallor of skin that rarely saw the sun, the gentle jiggle of his stomach with each breath, and the way his cock curved slightly to the left.

Mitch leaned back, stroking his cock with one hand as he reached for the thermos with the other. He took a long swig, the muscles in his throat working. "Ready for round two?" he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Leonard nodded, his gaze fixed intently on the man standing before him, never wavering for a moment. With deliberate movements, he slipped off his shoes and peeled away his socks, feeling the cool air brush against his bare feet. Slowly, he allowed his pants to slide off, laying fully exposed.

Mitch set the thermos aside and leaned in, capturing Leonard's mouth in a kiss that was rough and urgent. His hand found its way to the back of the other man's neck, holding him in place as their tongues danced together. The taste of coffee lingered on his breath, mingling with the musk of their desire.

Leonard moaned into the kiss, his hand reaching up to cup the back of Mitch's head, his fingers tangling in the coarse hair. The van's metal walls seemed to pulse with their passion, the flickering shadows from the distant light playing over their naked forms like a silent film of two lost souls finding refuge in each other's arms.

Breaking the kiss, Mitch slithered down, his mouth trailing a wet path over Leonard's chest. His tongue danced around a nipple, causing it to stiffen under his touch, before moving lower, tracing the curve of his belly. His hands followed, gripping the soft flesh as if trying to claim it, to mark it as his own.

Leonard leaned back further, giving the man full access to his body. He watched as Mitch took him in again, his mouth watering at the sight. Mitch unbuckled his pants and slid them to his knees

Mitch's hand guided him firmly but gently, pushing on his shoulder until he rolled over onto his belly. The cool leather of the cushion against his bare skin made him shiver, but the anticipation of what was to come kept him warm. He felt the man shift behind him, the sound of a bottle cap twisting open followed by the wet, squelching sound of lube being applied to his thick erection. The van's floor was cold and rough against his body as he positioned himself, and the sudden pressure of Mitch's hands on his hips was like a brand. The head of his cock nudged at the cleft of his ass, a blunt question that made him gasp. And then, with one swift, powerful push, the question became a declaration, as he slid into the heat of Leonard's body.

Leonard's eyes squeezed shut, his mouth forming a silent 'Oh' at the initial burn. But as the pain subsided, it was replaced by something else—a fullness, a connection that resonated deep within him. He felt the weight of the man's body pressing down, the musky scent of him mixing with the stale van air. And then, without preamble, the fucking began.

Mitch's rhythm was steady, punctuating the quiet with the rub of Leonard's flesh against his pubic hairs. Each thrust sent a bolt of sensation through him, his breath hitching in his chest, his palms pressing against the floor as he pushed back to meet each one. He could feel the coarse hair on the man's thighs brushing against the backs of his own, the slickness of lubricant mingling with his own sweat.

Leonard's body responded in a way it hadn't in years. His cock grew harder, trapped between his belly and the floor, leaking pre-cum in a sticky trail that grew with each of Mitch's thrusts. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, his toes curling, his hips pushing back to meet each drive forward.

Mitch leaned over him, whispering in his ear. "You like that?" His voice was gruff, his breath hot and urgent. "You like a man's cock in your ass?"

Leonard couldn't speak, but his body spoke for him, arching up to meet each thrust, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. The words 'yes' and 'more' were trapped in his throat, reduced to silent nods and whimpers.

Mitch's weight pressed Leonard deeper into the cushions, his thrusts becoming more determined, more possessive. Each slam of his hips sent shockwaves through Leonard's body, forcing sounds from him he didn't recognize as his own. Low, animal grunts escaped his throat, rising in pitch as Mitch found that perfect angle.

"God, yes," Leonard gasped, his voice breaking. The van rocked with their movements, the suspension creaking in rhythm with their bodies.

Mitch's breathing grew ragged against Leonard's ear, his chest slick with sweat against Leonard's back. The scent of sex filled the small space, primal and unmistakable.

"Gonna—" Mitch growled, suddenly pulling out with a wet sound. Strong hands gripped Leonard's shoulders, flipping him over like he weighed nothing.

Leonard blinked up, disoriented by the sudden emptiness, just in time to see Mitch stroking himself furiously above him. His face contorted, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. With a guttural cry, he erupted, hot spurts landing across Leonard's cheeks, lips, and forehead.

The warm wetness, the raw intimacy of the act, sent Leonard over the edge. His hand flew to his own neglected cock, three desperate tugs all it took before he was coming hard, arching off the cushions, painting his stomach and chest with his release.

For several moments, there was only the sound of their breathing, harsh and uneven in the confined space. Leonard lay there, feeling the cum cooling on his face, oddly proud of the mess they'd made of each other.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, just heavy with the weight of what had transpired. Leonard stared at the van's ceiling, watching how the distant garage lights filtered through the single foggy window, casting strange patterns across the metal.

Leonard lay there, his face covered in semen, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through him.

Mitch collapsed beside him, their shoulders touching in the narrow space. He reached over without looking, fumbling until he found a packet of wet wipes wedged between the cushions.

"Here," he said, voice gentler than before. He handed one to Leonard, who wiped his face with shaking hands.

Leonard nodded, unable to find the words.

After Leonard dressed, Mitch offered to drive him to his car parked in the dimly lit garage. The air inside the van was thick with the lingering scent of their shared moments. Upon arriving at the vehicle, Leonard stepped out of the van, waving to Mitch, who drove away into the shadows of the garage, perhaps heading back to the same spot or perhaps venturing elsewhere.

Leonard watched as the van's taillights glowed like distant embers before they vanished into the enveloping darkness of the night. As he settled into his car, his mind buzzed with vivid memories of the encounter—the intoxicating taste of Mitch's lips, the warmth and strength of the man's body against his own, the electric, raw pleasure that had surged through him like a live wire. Nights like these were always unexpected, a thrilling gamble with stakes high, but sometimes, the exhilarating payoff made every bit of risk worthwhile.