A van squeals into the parking lot of the Olin Motel. A sliding door scrapes open and muffled male voices are in the middle of what sounds like a heated banter. The door scrapes and slams hard with a bang. Tires rev again and the van peels out of the lot. The quick cadence of a pair of cowboy boots trots up the metal stairs and down the hall towards room 8. A set of keys jangles at the door and a low male voice mutters "Son of a bitch..."
Tom O’Leary leans forward on the edge of his bed in room 9 watching the fight on TV. It's a close one from the get go and the fighters are very evenly matched. He's cheering for Jonas and he makes slightly pained noises every time it looks like the man is beat and shouts "Yeah!" each time Jonas gets back in it or pulls a particularly strategic move. Jonas has just sent his opponent into the floor with a brilliant knockout and Tom stands up and shouts out, his hands in his hair in anticipation of a win. He's been so wrapped up in it he didn't notice the van pull in or the doors opening and closing. Suddenly there's a pounding on the wall and the unmistakable yell of "Turn it down mother fucker!" from the male part of the couple that shares the room next door. Tom glares at the wall and gives it the middle finger muttering "Up yours arsehole." He turns the game down a few decibels out of respect, not for the man, but his girlfriend, Heather, who has always been sweet when he's met her and very easy on the eyes. As he steps back to the bed, Jonas's win is announced but the thrill of it is somewhat deflated. What the fuck does Heather see in that jackass anyway?
Tom flicks channels now that the boxing is done. At a pause he hears a squeak followed by Heather's voice, sounding distressed. He’s never sure if he should be concerned or if they just like it a bit rough over there. He sighs and shakes his head, turning the volume back up a bit on a sitcom. At a certain point he hears a moan from Ken and rolls his eyes "Lucky fucker doesn't know how good he has it."
Catching a grunt in Heather’s voice from next door, he envies the man in her bed and the apparent pleasure he's bringing her. It's been a long time since he shared intimate space with a woman, too long. He hears her voice begging in reply to what he assumes is her man talking dirty and feels the twinge of becoming semi erect when he makes out the word "Harder." God, he'd give it to a woman like that any way she wanted. Tom ran a hand into his hair and turned up the TV a bit more, trying to ignore it all and put the thoughts from his mind.
Tom overhears the climaxes of the couple through the wall despite his TV. At Heather's, he grabs at his now rock hard cock through his jeans, letting out a tiny grunt of his own as he grips it through the fabric. The boyfriend's sobers him back to reality and he sighs and heads for a cold shower, determined to shake off the feeling and go to bed after.
He stands in the shower for a long time, letting the cold wash over him and calm things as much as he can. Tom finds himself fighting an erection as he warms up again, walks out in a towel and looks at the wall separating the two rooms. He sighs and looks back to the TV, hearing the one on next door now too. He casually walks to the window and pulls the curtains shut hastily. There's a slight crack but he knows no one can see up this high from the parking lot. He drops the towel, lying on his back on the bed naked. Tom has a stocky but cut build, like a boxer, which he was for many years himself. The crack in the curtain lines up with his hard on, now raised like a post from his position laying there. Giving in he starts to run his fingers over it, teasing himself a bit, taking his time getting started.
Tom gently wraps his hand around the shaft of his cock now, starting to rub in a light rhythm. He feels himself getting a little close and slows, not wanting the pleasure to end too fast. His hand rests and then he runs a fingertip around the head of his cock before licking his finger and running it around again and shuddering a bit. He slowly grabs hold again and just stays his hand, thrusting up a bit in the eagerness of what's building. His eyes close and he's lost in the moment. He's held back long enough. Going for it now, Tom grasps his cock fully rubbing up and down in a faster harder rhythm. His face contorts and he lets out a soft moan, and his motions get faster until his head snaps back and he gasps hard gripping the tip of his cock as he cums all over his own chest, writhing and then slowing to stillness and catching his breath. After a few breaths he smacks the side table for the box of tissues and pulls them to him to tidy up.
There is a horrid little wad of Kleenex beside him now and starts fishing in the bed covers for the edge of the sheet. Tom rolls towards the window and sees a face looking in on him, Heather's face. His eyes go wide and he stares at her and freezes. She was watching him and she had gotten quite the show. Not knowing how else to react he couldn't help but crack a nervous smile. Heather sees Tom turn and look at her and for a moment, she is frozen. Then she realizes and squeaks, and hurries back into her hotel room, careful and quiet. In a twisted place in his head all he could think was that he hoped she liked what she saw.