YuseiGO was spending a lot of time in the garage these days. Since the halt of the tournament, it was beginning to serve no other purpose but a ride up to the grocery store, but even that was menial considering the market was right up the street. If it was up to Bruno, this exquisite beauty of a machine would be out doing what it was built to do – ride.

Bruno slouched in his chair and rested an elbow on his knee, lightly nipping on a fingernail. Yusei didn't even throw it a second glance when he and the group left earlier that evening. Pitiful, considering how often he went on about the trouble he went through constructing it from scratch, obtaining the expensive paint in the poverty-stricken territory that was Satellite and the long nights of bashing his head on the keyboard until its program had been written flawlessly. Part of Yusei's attitude toward his D-wheel, especially as of late, was beginning to disgust him.

Bruno stood and snatched a work-rag from a nearby stool. Was that dust he saw? He frowned and examined the hood of the D-wheel. In the cool glint of the shop lights, he could indeed make out a thin layer of settled dust. Bruno had always argued with himself that there should be a law against neglecting something with this amount of worth, but he laughed it off. However, seeing the pathetic condition Yusei's 'baby' was in now, he couldn't help but be overcome with anger.

He shook his head and sighed. Maybe he'd consider bringing up his concern with Yusei when he got back. Bruno shook the rag and examined it for any particles of sand that may of attached themselves to the fabric. The last thing he'd want to do was explain to Yusei how he was trying to help, but he forgot to take note of the rag he was using before he set it down to smear miniature scratches over the surface. Bruno almost shuddered at the thought, not necessarily of Yusei kicking his ass into next week for carelessly destroying his bike in his absence, but the thought inflicting that kind of damage on the glossy skin of paint. This thing was the absolute definition of beauty, if not a holy relic. Actually, Bruno cringed at the thought of calling it an 'it' and a 'thing'. Those were terms used to describe lower-life forms, inanimate and soulless, hollow shells of matter that a true sentient organism wouldn't, and shouldn't, give a second look.

At that thought, he cast a glance to his own store-bought D-wheel. No, that heap of junk was worthless. It wasn't designed for anything other than consumption and destruction. There was nothing inside its faulty and glitch-ridden excuse for a computer giving it any form of individuality. The thing was scrap metal fitted with a program a child could of written. But this... no, Yusei's D-wheel was most definitely a he. 'He' was something else entirely. Bruno let the rag fall gently to the surface of the glistening metal and carefully ran it across the surface of the vehicle, almost petting 'him' out of a paranoia of injuring the delicate, red coat of gleaming paint.

He could sense it. A soul, an artificially created, imposed identity is what gave this perfect machine its breathtaking appeal. Bruno recalled back to the day he first heard Yusei rev the engine. He had almost gasped aloud and had to steady himself so he wouldn't drop to his knees in awe. Since that day, even stealing a touch pleasure in itself, but he couldn't imagine the experience one might get by actually riding it. Bruno couldn't count all the times he'd fantasized about taking Yusei's D-wheel out for a spin, preferably at night, the cool wind biting his heated cheeks as he pushed it into the redzone, rounding a sharp corner and feeling the ecstasy of several G's press into his chest, the soft hum of the engine vibrating between his thighs as he squeezed his legs around the frame and gripped the acceleration. He felt his eyes glaze over as he imagined the thrill of the ride, but he shook his head when he felt his consciousness slip from reality. No, there was no way he'd risk his life by taking the neglected D-wheel out like that, not when he was so uncertain of the time of Yusei's return. Even so, he was absolutely positive that if he left, he'd never come back.

A smirk crossed Bruno's face. Now, that was a little illogical, Bruno, he told himself. But then, when weren'tpassions illogical? He sighed and let the rag drop to the floor. But what he wouldn't give to race through the city, the bright lights reflecting in his eyes and on the hood of the bike, going so fast that the scenery became a blur of whites and neons. A chill swept over him suddenly and his heart gave an anxious flutter. Adrenaline, anticipation, excitement... arousal. If he had to name a few words of what such experience would entail, even those words wouldn't be accurate enough in their description of the rush he got when he thought about speed.

Bruno blinked a few times and settled his gaze on the seat of the bike. Well, it wasn't like he was going anywhere; he was sure Yusei wouldn't mind if he played around with the interface a little bit. He peered over at the front door. The group had gone to a party of some sort for the night, saying they'd be back a little late. Whatever that meant, it somehow rang assuring.

He smiled as he flung a leg over the seat, lowered the arm of the bike and settled into a riding position. Now this was bliss. It was astonishing the impact of just touching a machine like this was having on him. Inside this compact contraption was a miniature powerhouse capable of reaching enormous speeds and he was merely sitting at the controls, dreaming of them. He leaned forward and brushed his hands along the hood, gradually sliding them back and along the 'arms' of the bike. His hot fingers against the air-chilled metal gave him goosebumps, but that wasn't the entire reason he'd suddenly become so sensitive to the touch.

Bruno shut his eyes and tilt his head back against the smooth, artificial fabric of the seat. Designed to feel like actual leather, it was nearly indistinguishable from the real thing, aside from the scent of course. Some might call it a "cheap plastic" smell, but Bruno knew the difference between the smell of cheap plastic and high-grade synthetic fabric. Whereas cheap plastic is, as the name implies, made cheaply, synthetic fiber underwent a much more vigorous and delicate procedure to ensure its longevity and aesthetic quality. In any case, Bruno preferred the artificial smell over the smell of dead animal any day, but that was hardly the main appeal. Again, his mind contemplated what sort of science was behind duplicating the exact feel of natural leather. He opened his eyes as he bit back a moan; he really needed to learn some thought control.

But where's the fun in that? Bruno knelt forward, his legs pressing tightly into the sides of the bike. His finger hovered just above the ignition switch. Should I do it?Once more, he shot a glance to the front entrance, followed by a long stare at the clock. There was enough time, Yusei would never know, and... his finger ran over the smooth, round metal of the ignition. The poor thing was just begging to be turned on.

The engine flickered on the instant he pressed, sending subtle, throbbing vibrations through the metal frame and up Bruno's squeezing legs where they were hungrily collected between his thighs. He grinned eagerly and curled his toes inside his socks. As expected, even sitting in park was getting him all flustered. The quiet hum of the motor told of its perfectly maintained condition. It was practically silent to the untrained ear, much like the sound of a television on mute, but Bruno's sensitive ears could pick out every pulse and glitch. He listened, not with his ears alone, but his entire body. He drank in the sound of trillions of spinning electrons through every pore, analyzing and evaluating.

Bruno absent-mindedly arched his back, curving his hips into the plush of the seat. As expected, he, the D-wheel, was perfect in every aspect. He opened his mouth and gently ran his tongue over his lips, wetting them and tasting their moistness. One hand tightly gripping an 'arm' of the vehicle, Bruno lowered the other to cup his now aching groin. He slowly massaged his balls through the thickness of his pants and twitched eagerly when he felt his dick growing hard in the hot and tight enclosure. He sighed softly.

Bruno allowed his index finger to slowly circle the button on his pants before flipping it open, dropping the zipper and reaching a hand into the warm depths to grasp at his excited length. He sounded a trembling moan as the cool flesh of his palm grasped his cock and shook it from its prison. Already, a sticky, thick liquid had begun collecting on the tip. He brushed his hand across it, smearing it over his palm.

His legs were squeezing the motorbike tightly, hips bucking arrhythmically into the seat or his hand, whichever he could hump erratically to reach further pleasure. The dense, oppressive confinement of his tight jeans did little to extend his stimulation. At this rate of arousal, the pants would have to go. He sat idle for a moment, wondering how the hell he would get his pants off like this. Stumbling off the bike was most certainly not an option. There was already a strong electromagnetism between his crotch and the vibrating seat. Impatience ached at his core, so without further ado, Bruno stuck his legs into the air, grabbed the waist of his jeans and uncomfortably attempted to wiggle out of them. All was well, at least until he got to his ankles, where the tapered leg of the pant design kept his legs from simply slipping out.

His cheeks began to redden as he strained. Wiggling in place with his legs spread and bottom arching towards the sky, he felt a hot blush shiver up his cheeks. Bruno's sexual frustration was rising faster than the pulsating pressure in his pants. In his fury, he was forced to pry each individual pant leg from around his ankle. At last, gasping with relief, he practically sent the jeans soaring through the room, giving enough speed to the flapping pant legs to provide a small amount of lift before, of course, gravity brought them to a loud plop on the floor.

On his chest and back, a small coat of sweat had begun to form, so before he could rip it to pieces or die of heat exhaustion, his jacket too flew to meet its companion. Satisfied temporarily, Bruno immediately returned to pleasing his balls against the softness of the seat, rubbing them eagerly into the cushion. He grasped for a handle, anything to hold on to, and his hands found only the edge of the hood to cling to. The perspiration between his thighs kept the plastic fabric irritatingly stuck to his tacky inner thighs as he tried to scoot forward. Bruno placed his feet upon the pedals and curled his toes around the edges. After several moments of struggling, he settled himself just behind where the seat met the dash, finding the ridge to be almost madefor humping.

His back arched greatly when he bent forward to rest his cheek on the hood. The cold metal against his flustered face triggered fervent shudders and whimpers. He turned his head to press his sweaty forehead against the now warm, skin-heated metal. From his slightly agape mouth, he slowly let his tongue slip out. At first it was only a touch, until he found the flavor he was seeking. Although the paint dulled much of the taste, the tang of raw metal met his tongue as he licked. Patches of saliva collected in shimmering pools on the slick surface and he sucked them up with little showers of kisses.

It wasn't merely the rubbing of the seat that sent him to the point of climax. Even though the buzzing of the machine between his legs and rough stroking of his cock were all variables to take into consideration, Bruno knew he certainly could not have been enjoying himself as much as he was if he was in any other position or circumstance. Part of it was honestly something only he could understand; a deep, wanton desire for machines, so much so, that he craved them sexually.

He highly doubted discussing his interests on a personal level with Yusei would gain any sympathy or acceptance from the boy, but it wasn't like he wanted someone to confide in. There were just some things better left unsaid and unshared. As if he wanted to share this bike. For this half hour anyway, the bike was his alone.

Panting feverishly, Bruno reached a hand to stroke his cock, only to find quite of bit of pre-cum had already dripped and settled on the console. Panicking, he shakily tried to wipe it up with the edge of his shirt. Either he was delirious with pleasure or seriously in need of therapy, but he began to chuckle nervously. Damaging the vehicle? Far from it. The trembling motor was sighing his name.

His eyes formed slits as he watched his hand slide repetitively along the length of the hard, slick muscle. The pre-cum that now dripped freely along his wrist signaled the impending orgasm, but he didn't want it to be over just yet. Part of the ride was the thrill of the suspense; making a sharp turn, the centrifugal force pulling him to the edge, only to lean in to the curve. Either direction, uncontrolled, could send him flying, but he balanced on his stretch of road like two wheels heavy with friction. Only experience and intuition kept him from losing his grip on his emotions.

His deep moans quickened pace and hastily rose in volume. The ends of his hair tickled his shoulders as he tilt his head back to moan. Even in the still, shop air, he gained the sense of kinetic motion. His mind knew what his body desperately sought: a rush of relief that could only be sated by speed, even if it was simulated. Bruno's hand began to tremble anxiously toward the acceleration.

The thick rubber of the acceleration shaft formed to match his squeezing grip and he allowed his trembling hand to turn the vibrating handle, jerking it sharply inward, and back, and forward again, revving the engine to the beat of his own heart. The screaming, high-pitched wrrr of the motor as it approached the red line did little to drown out Bruno's fervant cry of release. Much like the machine itself, he too had a limit of capacity. Together their engines spun into overdrive, rapidly approaching their maximum revolutions per minute. If only for a split second, there came a point where both mind and machine fused to become a single, conscious entity, subsistant but definitely alive, emotive but only operative on some other plane of existence. Only the hot, sticky liquid that shot into his hand brought Bruno's mind back from the brink. Gasping, he fell back into the seat, lifting his shaking legs to rest on the arms of the D-wheel. His wrist ached terribly as he grasped his dripping cock, vigorously rubbing out the remainder of his intense orgasm.

A hundred garbled words and meaningless phrases tumbled from his quivering lips. His squeaking sighs resounded uncomfortably loud to his straining, paranoid ears. Taking a deep, calming breath, he sat forward and quickly attempted to recollect his senses. Bruno pursed his lips to silence himself, but he couldn't disguise his heavy breathing. His cheeks reddened when his eyes fell to meet the mess he had produced in his palm, on his legs and part of the seat and console.

There was no telling when the group would return, so Bruno began struggling to unstick his lower half from the seat-soaked seat. He stumbled off the bike with trembling legs and as he put his foot down, his sock slipped on the metal pedal, almost sending him face-first into the concrete. Nervous? Partially, it was more anxiety mixed with excitement than anything else. As he pulled on his jeans, he tried not to think about what he had just done.

Generally, he took his time polishing and cleaning, scrubbing down surfaces and inspecting the end result with critical eyes. This time however, he was more eager to finish disguising his little escapade

than actually worrying about dust, dirt and details otherwise. A little wipe here, a little dusting there, and of course, locating any overlooked bodily fluids. He made a slightly goofy face in the reflection of the hood as he soaked up the remaining saliva with a rag. A Shower, then bed. Sleep. He'd forget about this for tonight and wake up to a new day. In his mind, he was already tossing anxiously in his couch-bed, fretting about Yusei finding out, asking himself "what if" questions. "What if he just "knows" was possibly the most illogical in the long list of paranoias that were seeping into his thoughts.

So when he lay down in bed a half hour later, cold, wet strands of hair sticking to his freshly-scrubbed cheeks, he let out a deep sigh. He was exhausted. Not necessarily physical fatigue, but more of a mental strain that happened to take a toll on his physical health. Silence closed in around him as he peered into the darkness, ears straining but only hearing the light ticking of a clock somewhere in the building; an analogical lullaby to soothe him to sleep. Somehow, it was comforting. He'd gone on a ride that night, a wild one in fact, without even moving a foot. Sitting almost motionless, he'd acquired a sense of movement with having gone anywhere; mentally invoked while being physically stimulated. Bruno smiled to himself and pulled the blanket over his head. Thankfully, he had remained motionless. Doing what he had just done 200mph on a highway might be a little more than risky but even so, the promise of something more genuine and intimate still teased his aching thighs.

Nothing compared to the real thing, but as Bruno felt the sleep over-take him and offer forth pleasant visions of a night flight through a whole spectrum of hues, he began to realize in his quiescent mind that he didn't require the real thing. Riding a simulation was satisfying, at least for now.