Thunder Road (Chapter 2, Rossi/Reid, NC-17)
Chapter Two
They pull into Nashville, and all Rossi says is "I was expecting more cowboy hats."
Reid looks over at him and shakes his head, laughing. "Maybe they come out at night?" he offers impishly.
Rossi grins. "Are we staying the night to check?"
"I can't see why not." Reid smiles back.
They stop for lunch in a McDonalds, because it’s close. Rossi orders cheeseburgers, whereas Reid goes for chicken nuggets.
When Rossi takes his first bite, he realizes there is mustard on his burger.
That has to be one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he thinks, up there with hating baseball and never playing dodgeball as a kid. He pulls the offending piece of cheeseburger out of his mouth and makes a face. “Mustard,” he explains.
Reid’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. He just pushes one of his boxes of chicken nuggets over to Rossi’s side of the table and exchanges it for the other cheeseburger.
“Is this another Long Island thing?” Reid asks, tilting his head.
Rossi nods, a bit put out by the whole thing. “Like getting pizza anyplace but Long Island or the City. Can’t believe I forgot about mustard.”
Reid smiles gently. “The pizza thing probably has to do with the local water supply.”
“Thanks for the science lesson,” Rossi grumbles back, but without any real venom. He begins to eat the chicken nuggets, and watches as Reid eats his cheeseburger. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that Reid isn’t dead by now - he clearly has no real taste in condiments, which is an absolutely terrible sign.
He points this out, and Reid almost chokes on the bit of burger in his mouth. When he recovers, he says, “Not all of us are from New York, Rossi. We can’t all have such discerning palettes.”
There’s a soft, fond smile in his eyes and voice that is utterly irresistible, and Rossi almost misses the fact that he’s being teased to hell and back. Somehow, he doesn’t care enough to be insulted, and just smiles back.
Their attempt at minigolf is a disaster, but absolute comedy gold, Rossi decides as the fifteenth golf ball sinks into the nearest little pond.
Reid glowers at him. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
They’re only on the fourth hole, to put the golf ball thing into perspective.
“I’m not laughing. Your failure at minigolf is serious business, after all,” Rossi replies, smirking. “A life or death matter.”
“You’re horrible,” Reid mutters.
But the next ball sinks into the hole with one stroke.
Huh, apparently, if you goaded him enough, Reid could manage it. Rossi kept that in mind for the next few holes.
By the final hole, Reid’s score is somewhere up around one hundred and twenty, but Rossi stopped counting at hole seven, so he could be off by a couple dozen. Reid hands his golf club back to the girl at the desk rather more emphatically than is entirely necessary, and Rossi only barely keeps from laughing.
Instead, he hands his own club back and asks her, “What’s the nicest hotel in the area?”
She pauses for a moment, and then her lips start twitching, and then she begins to laugh. She laughs for a long time, eventually going silent for lack of breath - but still laughing nonetheless. Rossi and Reid watch her, and Rossi wonders what in God’s name is so funny.
Finally, she regains control of herself, gasping for air. “Um, it’s the, uh…” She giggles again, and leans in close. “Uh, the…the Gaylord Opryland. It’s very close. Ya cain’t really miss it.”
Reid has turned bright red at the girl’s implications, and Rossi rolls his eyes.
Some people have no sense of maturity.
Shopping for something nice to wear to a tour of the Grand Ole Opry is something the torture-masters of the Spanish Inquisition would have approved of.
First off, Rossi notes, Reid is uncomfortable with Rossi paying for everything. Which is rather endearing, actually, but also horribly inconvenient. Nonetheless, Rossi insists - and appeals both to Reid’s tidiness and logic - and so they shop.
Secondly, there is Reid’s fashion sense, or lack thereof.
Nothing more need be said about that.
But, eventually, they each find something reasonable. Or, in Reid’s case, far more than reasonable.
In fact, it might be unreasonable in the other direction, given that now, Rossi can’t stop looking.
He’s managed to cajole Reid into a wine-red button-down and a dressier pair of jeans, and they suit Reid as much as anything he’s ever worn - almost better in a way. Rossi imagines what Reid would look like if he had the glasses on, too, and his mind goes a little pornographic.
He tries to block out the image and steps strategically behind a shelf.
“I feel like I need a tie.”
“It’s fine. Just undo the top button,” Rossi tells him, mouth drying out as Reid complies with his request. Reid’s throat has always been as fascinating as it is statuesque, a white column he’d expect to see on a statue way too expensive to be reasonable.
Reid looks at him in the mirror, and there’s a spark.
Something twists in Rossi’s gut, but he doesn’t look away, and the moment fades out on its own, as moments tend to do.
They pay for the clothes with little ceremony, and then they duck into a public bathroom to change into them. Rossi himself isn’t dressed much differently than he normally does, but he observes himself in the bathroom mirror, judging and finding himself well-dressed enough, considering the circumstances. Reid is still in one of the stalls.
When Reid is visible again, dressed in the collared shirt and jeans, something flutters in Rossi’s stomach. Fucking butterflies, he realizes belatedly.
This is starting to feel a hell of a lot like a date.
But, Rossi thinks as he gives Reid another glance, that might be a good thing.
The tour of the Grand Ole Opry House is actually somewhat dull. The tour guide is nervous, probably new at her job, and she keeps stealing glances his way.
He wonders if she recognizes him, and decides it doesn’t matter.
When they finally get out into the sunlight, Reid is rambling on about the things he’s just learned and how they connect to things he’s just remembered he knew. Rossi listens, but moreso for the sound of Reid’s voice than for the words coming out of his mouth.
It’s starting to get a little dusky out, so Rossi asks, “Do you want to go get dinner?”
Reid nods. “We could head to the, uh, hotel.”
Rossi chuckles at the soft flush suffusing Reid’s face. He’ll admit that the name of the hotel is amusing, but, according to the chatty receptionist at the Opry House, it’s also the nicest hotel in the vicinity - and, since he is David Fucking Rossi, he will spare no expense when given the opportunity.
They get in the old green Chevy, and head toward the hotel. The wine-red of Reid’s shirt adds to the reds and pinks and golds of the sunset, which makes Reid into an even more breathtaking sight, and Rossi does his best not to stare.
But glances every now and then seem to be all right - at the very least, they’re not causing him to crash the car, which is all he really asks for.
They pull up to the hotel, and it is absolutely lovely, with antebellum-looking columns amidst a great mass of greenery. Exactly the sort of place Rossi would have planned to go, if any part of this whole trip had been planned and not made up out of thin air as they went along.
He gets out of the car and, feeling an unexpected bout of chivalry, he walks around to Reid’s door and opens it for him.
Reid raises his eyebrows but accepts the gesture. It’s not long before they’re inside. Rossi handles the concierge with practiced elegance, charming her - a surprising amount of women behind desks today in Nashville, he notes - and getting them a Presidential suite.
“That was good,” Reid murmurs to him, nudging him in the arm.
Rossi shrugs. “Bestselling author; you don’t get good at it unless you get good at people.” He looks around the hotel’s atrium. “You want dinner first, or drinks?”
“Dinner,” Reid says, and curls a hand under Rossi’s elbow, tugging him toward the nearest in-resort restaurant, which is a little Irish pub called Findley’s.
It turns out to be quite good - they certainly can handle their potatoes - but the conversation is better. Though it mostly winds up being about recent cases, and recent things - Ashley’s transfer out of the unit and Aaron’s impending trip to the Middle East for example - Reid manages to make it all sound interesting and almost new.
When they’re finished with their beef stew and beers, Rossi is the first to get up. “You want to take a walk? This place looks like it could do with some exploring.”
Reid smiles. “I’d like that.”
They leave the pub and head back into the atrium, which is full of fountains and leafy green trees and bushes. They loiter there for a few moments, looking around. It’s beautiful, Rossi thinks, and makes a mental note to come back again some day.
From there they head for the Falls Bar, which is built up from stone and draped in plant life. Rossi grabs each of them a glass of wine and a shot of whiskey - bitter and sweet, just how life is, and how it ought to be.
Reid laughs when he says that, and toasts: “To bitter and sweet.”
“You don’t toast with a shot, idiot,” Rossi counters amicably before knocking back his own.
Music is floating down from somewhere invisible, and they sit side-by-side and silent for a while, listening to it. Rossi’s never been big on country, but this one is forceful and sweet, by one of the newer artists.
He’s surprised when he realizes that Reid is humming along.
Then, Reid catches him looking, and smiles, just as the song proclaims, and I see sparks fly whenever you smile.
Rossi thanks God for musicians and, tentatively, reaches for Reid’s hand under the bar. The smile doesn’t abate, and there might just be something burning in Reid’s tawny eyes. Rossi feels his throat stop up, but, in the end, it doesn’t really matter, because he knows what he needs to do.
He stands up and pulls Reid with him. “You wanna head back to the room?”
Reid nods silently, and doesn’t let go of his hand.
[end Chapter Two]
Link to Chapter 1
Link to Chapter 3
They pull into Nashville, and all Rossi says is "I was expecting more cowboy hats."
Reid looks over at him and shakes his head, laughing. "Maybe they come out at night?" he offers impishly.
Rossi grins. "Are we staying the night to check?"
"I can't see why not." Reid smiles back.
They stop for lunch in a McDonalds, because it’s close. Rossi orders cheeseburgers, whereas Reid goes for chicken nuggets.
When Rossi takes his first bite, he realizes there is mustard on his burger.
That has to be one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he thinks, up there with hating baseball and never playing dodgeball as a kid. He pulls the offending piece of cheeseburger out of his mouth and makes a face. “Mustard,” he explains.
Reid’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. He just pushes one of his boxes of chicken nuggets over to Rossi’s side of the table and exchanges it for the other cheeseburger.
“Is this another Long Island thing?” Reid asks, tilting his head.
Rossi nods, a bit put out by the whole thing. “Like getting pizza anyplace but Long Island or the City. Can’t believe I forgot about mustard.”
Reid smiles gently. “The pizza thing probably has to do with the local water supply.”
“Thanks for the science lesson,” Rossi grumbles back, but without any real venom. He begins to eat the chicken nuggets, and watches as Reid eats his cheeseburger. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that Reid isn’t dead by now - he clearly has no real taste in condiments, which is an absolutely terrible sign.
He points this out, and Reid almost chokes on the bit of burger in his mouth. When he recovers, he says, “Not all of us are from New York, Rossi. We can’t all have such discerning palettes.”
There’s a soft, fond smile in his eyes and voice that is utterly irresistible, and Rossi almost misses the fact that he’s being teased to hell and back. Somehow, he doesn’t care enough to be insulted, and just smiles back.
Their attempt at minigolf is a disaster, but absolute comedy gold, Rossi decides as the fifteenth golf ball sinks into the nearest little pond.
Reid glowers at him. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
They’re only on the fourth hole, to put the golf ball thing into perspective.
“I’m not laughing. Your failure at minigolf is serious business, after all,” Rossi replies, smirking. “A life or death matter.”
“You’re horrible,” Reid mutters.
But the next ball sinks into the hole with one stroke.
Huh, apparently, if you goaded him enough, Reid could manage it. Rossi kept that in mind for the next few holes.
By the final hole, Reid’s score is somewhere up around one hundred and twenty, but Rossi stopped counting at hole seven, so he could be off by a couple dozen. Reid hands his golf club back to the girl at the desk rather more emphatically than is entirely necessary, and Rossi only barely keeps from laughing.
Instead, he hands his own club back and asks her, “What’s the nicest hotel in the area?”
She pauses for a moment, and then her lips start twitching, and then she begins to laugh. She laughs for a long time, eventually going silent for lack of breath - but still laughing nonetheless. Rossi and Reid watch her, and Rossi wonders what in God’s name is so funny.
Finally, she regains control of herself, gasping for air. “Um, it’s the, uh…” She giggles again, and leans in close. “Uh, the…the Gaylord Opryland. It’s very close. Ya cain’t really miss it.”
Reid has turned bright red at the girl’s implications, and Rossi rolls his eyes.
Some people have no sense of maturity.
Shopping for something nice to wear to a tour of the Grand Ole Opry is something the torture-masters of the Spanish Inquisition would have approved of.
First off, Rossi notes, Reid is uncomfortable with Rossi paying for everything. Which is rather endearing, actually, but also horribly inconvenient. Nonetheless, Rossi insists - and appeals both to Reid’s tidiness and logic - and so they shop.
Secondly, there is Reid’s fashion sense, or lack thereof.
Nothing more need be said about that.
But, eventually, they each find something reasonable. Or, in Reid’s case, far more than reasonable.
In fact, it might be unreasonable in the other direction, given that now, Rossi can’t stop looking.
He’s managed to cajole Reid into a wine-red button-down and a dressier pair of jeans, and they suit Reid as much as anything he’s ever worn - almost better in a way. Rossi imagines what Reid would look like if he had the glasses on, too, and his mind goes a little pornographic.
He tries to block out the image and steps strategically behind a shelf.
“I feel like I need a tie.”
“It’s fine. Just undo the top button,” Rossi tells him, mouth drying out as Reid complies with his request. Reid’s throat has always been as fascinating as it is statuesque, a white column he’d expect to see on a statue way too expensive to be reasonable.
Reid looks at him in the mirror, and there’s a spark.
Something twists in Rossi’s gut, but he doesn’t look away, and the moment fades out on its own, as moments tend to do.
They pay for the clothes with little ceremony, and then they duck into a public bathroom to change into them. Rossi himself isn’t dressed much differently than he normally does, but he observes himself in the bathroom mirror, judging and finding himself well-dressed enough, considering the circumstances. Reid is still in one of the stalls.
When Reid is visible again, dressed in the collared shirt and jeans, something flutters in Rossi’s stomach. Fucking butterflies, he realizes belatedly.
This is starting to feel a hell of a lot like a date.
But, Rossi thinks as he gives Reid another glance, that might be a good thing.
The tour of the Grand Ole Opry House is actually somewhat dull. The tour guide is nervous, probably new at her job, and she keeps stealing glances his way.
He wonders if she recognizes him, and decides it doesn’t matter.
When they finally get out into the sunlight, Reid is rambling on about the things he’s just learned and how they connect to things he’s just remembered he knew. Rossi listens, but moreso for the sound of Reid’s voice than for the words coming out of his mouth.
It’s starting to get a little dusky out, so Rossi asks, “Do you want to go get dinner?”
Reid nods. “We could head to the, uh, hotel.”
Rossi chuckles at the soft flush suffusing Reid’s face. He’ll admit that the name of the hotel is amusing, but, according to the chatty receptionist at the Opry House, it’s also the nicest hotel in the vicinity - and, since he is David Fucking Rossi, he will spare no expense when given the opportunity.
They get in the old green Chevy, and head toward the hotel. The wine-red of Reid’s shirt adds to the reds and pinks and golds of the sunset, which makes Reid into an even more breathtaking sight, and Rossi does his best not to stare.
But glances every now and then seem to be all right - at the very least, they’re not causing him to crash the car, which is all he really asks for.
They pull up to the hotel, and it is absolutely lovely, with antebellum-looking columns amidst a great mass of greenery. Exactly the sort of place Rossi would have planned to go, if any part of this whole trip had been planned and not made up out of thin air as they went along.
He gets out of the car and, feeling an unexpected bout of chivalry, he walks around to Reid’s door and opens it for him.
Reid raises his eyebrows but accepts the gesture. It’s not long before they’re inside. Rossi handles the concierge with practiced elegance, charming her - a surprising amount of women behind desks today in Nashville, he notes - and getting them a Presidential suite.
“That was good,” Reid murmurs to him, nudging him in the arm.
Rossi shrugs. “Bestselling author; you don’t get good at it unless you get good at people.” He looks around the hotel’s atrium. “You want dinner first, or drinks?”
“Dinner,” Reid says, and curls a hand under Rossi’s elbow, tugging him toward the nearest in-resort restaurant, which is a little Irish pub called Findley’s.
It turns out to be quite good - they certainly can handle their potatoes - but the conversation is better. Though it mostly winds up being about recent cases, and recent things - Ashley’s transfer out of the unit and Aaron’s impending trip to the Middle East for example - Reid manages to make it all sound interesting and almost new.
When they’re finished with their beef stew and beers, Rossi is the first to get up. “You want to take a walk? This place looks like it could do with some exploring.”
Reid smiles. “I’d like that.”
They leave the pub and head back into the atrium, which is full of fountains and leafy green trees and bushes. They loiter there for a few moments, looking around. It’s beautiful, Rossi thinks, and makes a mental note to come back again some day.
From there they head for the Falls Bar, which is built up from stone and draped in plant life. Rossi grabs each of them a glass of wine and a shot of whiskey - bitter and sweet, just how life is, and how it ought to be.
Reid laughs when he says that, and toasts: “To bitter and sweet.”
“You don’t toast with a shot, idiot,” Rossi counters amicably before knocking back his own.
Music is floating down from somewhere invisible, and they sit side-by-side and silent for a while, listening to it. Rossi’s never been big on country, but this one is forceful and sweet, by one of the newer artists.
He’s surprised when he realizes that Reid is humming along.
Then, Reid catches him looking, and smiles, just as the song proclaims, and I see sparks fly whenever you smile.
Rossi thanks God for musicians and, tentatively, reaches for Reid’s hand under the bar. The smile doesn’t abate, and there might just be something burning in Reid’s tawny eyes. Rossi feels his throat stop up, but, in the end, it doesn’t really matter, because he knows what he needs to do.
He stands up and pulls Reid with him. “You wanna head back to the room?”
Reid nods silently, and doesn’t let go of his hand.
[end Chapter Two]
Link to Chapter 1
Link to Chapter 3