The Fast and The Furious Go Along
Title: Go Along
Fandom: The Fast and The Furious
Pairing: Brian/Dom
Rating: PG
Warnings: Bad words
Word Count: 2069
Feedback: If you are so inclined, I'd appreciate it.
A/N: Originally, it was going to be in Dom's living room, then I had another thought. For some reason this was a little harder to get done than I thought it would be, but I made the deadline.Yay. Takes place right after Race Wars.
Prompt: Brian puts his hand on Dom’s leg on the couch one night and Dom doesn’t have the first clue how to react, especially since his body seems to be doing it for him.
Go Along
The hand burns hot through the fabric of Dominic Toretto's chinos. It distracts him from the still smarting skin on his knuckles. All around him people are partying off their Race War adrenaline. Drunk or well on their way to being so. At least Toretto hopes they are.
It makes sense that Spilner would be handsy when he's had too much to drink. When he's sober, he always seems to be right up in Dom's space. Of course drunk, he would be that much more.
If Spilner isn't drunk, if Spilner isn't drunk.... Toretto swallows down another gulp of his own Corona without looking at the man sitting next to him on the ratty couch in front of the DT trailer.
If Brian Spilner is sober then Toretto has to re-think everything and there's no time for that. With Jesse in the wind, he's getting static from his team about the next truck. With one less driver, all the job needs is a little reconfiguring. No reason to cancel. One more and then they're done. But Letty and Leon are jittery about going out without a full crew. Vince hasn't said much, but that isn't necessarily indicative of anything. The teams window of opportunity is about to be locked down. Toretto's connection at the docks is telling him that there’s chatter from the drivers about arming up. Time is definitely not on his side.
Jesse's stunt has put Tran in the mix. Tran stayed pissed about his sister a long time after the fact. Dom knows there is no way he's going to let the public beatdown earlier in the day slide. He'll be in Dom's face again or Jesse's, if he finds him first. Probably with some heavy duty firepower. These are the things on Dom's plate, right now. Serious things. He's in deep shit.
None of the things he should be dealing with has distracted his dick from expressing interest in the fingers searing their point of contact like a brand. Hasn't stopped the hard flutter in his stomach or the branding heat from flash firing through the rest of his body. And he doesn't do anything. He hasn't made any effort to slide his leg away. He doesn't knock the other man's hand away. He doesn't get up. Instead, he takes another swallow of beer. Maybe he should get drunk. The team has made itself scarce, so there probably wouldn't be any driving tonight, which pisses him off completely. But not enough to get up and go looking for any of them, not enough to break contact.
In Lompoc there were ‘encounters, but that was prison. The currency of that particular world. The excuse came ready made as soon as the metal bars clanged shut. His size and his crime put him on the receiving end of attention from men looking for either an ally or protection. Toretto doubts that Spilner is looking for protection. From what he's seen so far, the man beside him doesn't have sense enough to be afraid of anything.
Spilner kept his cool when the downtown race got busted, kept his cool when surrounded by Tran and Lance. Up against Tec 9's and a beef that had nothing to do with him, Brian Spilner had been shoulder to shoulder. Dom always figured his crew for ride or die, but that night downtown he hadn't been able to count on any of them. Not even Letty. There was no good reason for Spilner to have done what he had, except maybe this.
The Race War celebration rages on all around them. Toretto is grateful for the relative dark that conceals what's happening. Someone would have to be right up on them to see where the blond's hand is. For the tiniest of seconds Toretto feels gratitude toward Tran. Most of the other racers and crews are giving him a wide berth. Everyone knows why he served time and nobody wants to be on the receiving end of what Tran got.
None of that changes the fact the he should do something because he won't be able to sit still much longer. Spilner's thumb has begun a slow stroke along his inseam. The accelerated thumping of his heart nearly drowns out the pump of music blaring across the lot. And his underwear feels like it did the one time Letty tried to do the laundry. Too tight. Swallowing another mouthful of beer, he risks a look at Spilner. Which helps nothing. The normally hyper alert blue eyes are closed. The beer in Spilner's hand still mostly full. Spilner can’t be anywhere close to drunk.
Fresh off an argument with Mia, Toretto had stalked back to the trailer and Spilner... Toretto had no idea where the other man had been before, but he was there, with two bottles of Corona in hand. They'd collapsed together into the couch's pre-worn grooves.
Likewise, there is no way that Dom is going to be able to get drunk with the one beer he has. At least not without getting up or trying to get someone else to snag him a few more. The last thing he wants to do is call attention to this situation. He doubts he can even walk.
His mind skips over the last week, trying to remember if he'd done anything, said anything to give Spilner the impression touching him like this is okay. Wonders if this is what all of Vince's asshole behavior has been about. If Vince had seen something. Dom presses his feet into the ground to resist his body's pull lower, closer to the hand that's risen higher on his leg.
"What are you doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing Toretto?" Spilner smiles, doesn't open his eyes.
"I think you're trying to get your hand broken. Which is gonna make it really hard for you to drive."
That gets Spilner's eyes open and staring directly at him. The finger stroking his inseam doesn't falter.
"That what you think I'm doing? Really? You're a good looking guy Toretto. I can't believe this is the first time anyone has ever come on to you. Works the same for boys and girls. A girl puts her hand in your lap, you think she's looking to get it broken?"
"If Letty's around, yeah."
"Letty isn't around."
"You think having a pretty face gets you -"
The heat on his leg disappears abruptly. And two disparate thoughts strike Toretto. If he'd known calling Spilner pretty would move his hand, he'd have done it sooner. He wishes it hadn't been that easy.
"Brian -," Spilner stares at him as though he has betrayed him somehow before scrambling up from the couch and stalking away into the night.
Dom's leg is icy hot with the loss of sensation. He puts the beer bottle on his crotch, rolling it along his cloth covered erection to try and get some relief. They hadn't been on the couch long enough for the bottle to lose its chill. Only a few minutes. Just long enough to fuck up his world. In prison the answer was easy, survival, go along to get along.
That excuse doesn't work on the outside where the only way to ease the effect of another man's hand on him is to either jerk himself to completion or get someone to bring him a bucket of ice. Go along to get along offers no refuge in a world where he no longer has to, but as he stares in the direction Spilner went, he wonders that he might want to.
The flames leaping up from metal trashcans cast odd shadows against the scattered trailers and tents.
His head falls against the back of the couch. It's been a long day and his hand and dick are both throbbing. It would be so easy to let his hand slide inside his pants. For just a minute, let it all go. No team, no trucks. Finish what Spilner started. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
A few months after Lompoc, he'd taken a solo road trip to Barstow to pick up a part for the Charger. Turning it into an overnighter, he stayed at a no tell motel with an adjacent dive bar.
That night, at the bar, Corona in hand, a bowl of chips at his elbow, it felt nice to drink with no team drama. The space wasn't much, a couple tables with chair, a few booths, a jukebox and pool table. No one knew him. It was enough.
He'd been at the bar almost an hour, watching a couple guys play pool when he realized he was really only watching one of them. The guy caught him a couple of times. Dom didn't avert his eyes. Enough residual Lompoc clung to him to make him hold his ground. But he had nothing to bridge the gap between what his looking would have meant in prison and what it meant on the outside.
He paid his tab and left before the pool game finished. Most of the night was spent staring at the water stained ceiling of his room. While staring at the ceiling and listening to eighteen wheelers barreling up and down the highway, images of precision driving road pirates took up residence in his head.
He wonders whether he’d be doing anything differently now, if he hadn’t left the bar that night.
*****
Still half hard, Toretto tracks Spilner to one of the far edges of the grounds. He can just barely make out the silhouette occasionally illuminated by the flames flickering out of a garbage can a few feet away. Walking up on Spilner until they are nearly shoulder to shoulder elicits no reaction.
"I'm with Letty."
“You choose that?" Comes back at him. It’s not what he was expecting.
"The fuck you mean by that?"
"I think it just happened. She shows up and it fits with the image so -."
"Shut the fuck up," Dom growls at him.
"I tried the non-verbal, you didn't seem interested."
"You got incredibly shitty timing."
Spilner pivots so that they are face to face. Nearly toe to toe. The flame illuminates Spilner's face just enough for Toretto to see the flicker of something in the other man's features that Toretto hasn’t seen before, can't quite decipher.
"Sometimes you don't get much of a choice about the timing."
Spilner sounds tired which further throws Toretto. What he's getting from the blond now bears little resemblance to the cocksureness on the couch. Or any of the attitude he's seemed bathed in since they met. Unsure what to do with the change, he ignores it.
"Yeah, Jesse couldn't have picked a worse time for his shit."
"You think he's gonna be okay?"
"If I can get to him before Tran than yeah, otherwise..."
"Well, whatever you need on that end man."
"You been a cocktease all your life Spilner or is this a new thing you're trying out?"
Spilner laughs.
"Some people learn a trade in juvie. I learned... other things."
It flashes for Toretto that with the way Spilner looks he'd be the guy on the shit end of a lot of sticks in a lockdown situation.
"Were you...did?"
Brian takes a couple of steps back, putting more space between.
"Nah, man. I've always been pretty good at working the lay of the land, fitting in, deflecting."
"But you...?"
"Yeah, oh yeah. It was like when you get behind the wheel of a car for the first time, that thrill that feeling that this is me. Juvie might have been the best thing to happen to me. And you're only a tease, Toretto if you can't or won't deliver."
"I'm with Letty."
"You got hard for me. You didn't punch me."
Toretto adjusts himself absently, finds Spilner following the movement.
"Incredibly shitty timing. Look we, the team, there's somewhere we gotta go. But after, I was thinking about taking the Charger down to Mexico for a little while. Leave some of this shit behind. Sort a few things out."
That same unidentifiable something flashes across Spilner's face again. Holding his hands palms up, he shrugs.
If Brian Spilner is willing to make his play, stone cold sober, in public and risk a serious ass-kicking, Dominic Toretto figures he can probably trust him to pick up Jesse's slack...among other things.
"I'm down a driver."
fin
Fandom: The Fast and The Furious
Pairing: Brian/Dom
Rating: PG
Warnings: Bad words
Word Count: 2069
Feedback: If you are so inclined, I'd appreciate it.
A/N: Originally, it was going to be in Dom's living room, then I had another thought. For some reason this was a little harder to get done than I thought it would be, but I made the deadline.Yay. Takes place right after Race Wars.
Prompt: Brian puts his hand on Dom’s leg on the couch one night and Dom doesn’t have the first clue how to react, especially since his body seems to be doing it for him.
Go Along
The hand burns hot through the fabric of Dominic Toretto's chinos. It distracts him from the still smarting skin on his knuckles. All around him people are partying off their Race War adrenaline. Drunk or well on their way to being so. At least Toretto hopes they are.
It makes sense that Spilner would be handsy when he's had too much to drink. When he's sober, he always seems to be right up in Dom's space. Of course drunk, he would be that much more.
If Spilner isn't drunk, if Spilner isn't drunk.... Toretto swallows down another gulp of his own Corona without looking at the man sitting next to him on the ratty couch in front of the DT trailer.
If Brian Spilner is sober then Toretto has to re-think everything and there's no time for that. With Jesse in the wind, he's getting static from his team about the next truck. With one less driver, all the job needs is a little reconfiguring. No reason to cancel. One more and then they're done. But Letty and Leon are jittery about going out without a full crew. Vince hasn't said much, but that isn't necessarily indicative of anything. The teams window of opportunity is about to be locked down. Toretto's connection at the docks is telling him that there’s chatter from the drivers about arming up. Time is definitely not on his side.
Jesse's stunt has put Tran in the mix. Tran stayed pissed about his sister a long time after the fact. Dom knows there is no way he's going to let the public beatdown earlier in the day slide. He'll be in Dom's face again or Jesse's, if he finds him first. Probably with some heavy duty firepower. These are the things on Dom's plate, right now. Serious things. He's in deep shit.
None of the things he should be dealing with has distracted his dick from expressing interest in the fingers searing their point of contact like a brand. Hasn't stopped the hard flutter in his stomach or the branding heat from flash firing through the rest of his body. And he doesn't do anything. He hasn't made any effort to slide his leg away. He doesn't knock the other man's hand away. He doesn't get up. Instead, he takes another swallow of beer. Maybe he should get drunk. The team has made itself scarce, so there probably wouldn't be any driving tonight, which pisses him off completely. But not enough to get up and go looking for any of them, not enough to break contact.
In Lompoc there were ‘encounters, but that was prison. The currency of that particular world. The excuse came ready made as soon as the metal bars clanged shut. His size and his crime put him on the receiving end of attention from men looking for either an ally or protection. Toretto doubts that Spilner is looking for protection. From what he's seen so far, the man beside him doesn't have sense enough to be afraid of anything.
Spilner kept his cool when the downtown race got busted, kept his cool when surrounded by Tran and Lance. Up against Tec 9's and a beef that had nothing to do with him, Brian Spilner had been shoulder to shoulder. Dom always figured his crew for ride or die, but that night downtown he hadn't been able to count on any of them. Not even Letty. There was no good reason for Spilner to have done what he had, except maybe this.
The Race War celebration rages on all around them. Toretto is grateful for the relative dark that conceals what's happening. Someone would have to be right up on them to see where the blond's hand is. For the tiniest of seconds Toretto feels gratitude toward Tran. Most of the other racers and crews are giving him a wide berth. Everyone knows why he served time and nobody wants to be on the receiving end of what Tran got.
None of that changes the fact the he should do something because he won't be able to sit still much longer. Spilner's thumb has begun a slow stroke along his inseam. The accelerated thumping of his heart nearly drowns out the pump of music blaring across the lot. And his underwear feels like it did the one time Letty tried to do the laundry. Too tight. Swallowing another mouthful of beer, he risks a look at Spilner. Which helps nothing. The normally hyper alert blue eyes are closed. The beer in Spilner's hand still mostly full. Spilner can’t be anywhere close to drunk.
Fresh off an argument with Mia, Toretto had stalked back to the trailer and Spilner... Toretto had no idea where the other man had been before, but he was there, with two bottles of Corona in hand. They'd collapsed together into the couch's pre-worn grooves.
Likewise, there is no way that Dom is going to be able to get drunk with the one beer he has. At least not without getting up or trying to get someone else to snag him a few more. The last thing he wants to do is call attention to this situation. He doubts he can even walk.
His mind skips over the last week, trying to remember if he'd done anything, said anything to give Spilner the impression touching him like this is okay. Wonders if this is what all of Vince's asshole behavior has been about. If Vince had seen something. Dom presses his feet into the ground to resist his body's pull lower, closer to the hand that's risen higher on his leg.
"What are you doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing Toretto?" Spilner smiles, doesn't open his eyes.
"I think you're trying to get your hand broken. Which is gonna make it really hard for you to drive."
That gets Spilner's eyes open and staring directly at him. The finger stroking his inseam doesn't falter.
"That what you think I'm doing? Really? You're a good looking guy Toretto. I can't believe this is the first time anyone has ever come on to you. Works the same for boys and girls. A girl puts her hand in your lap, you think she's looking to get it broken?"
"If Letty's around, yeah."
"Letty isn't around."
"You think having a pretty face gets you -"
The heat on his leg disappears abruptly. And two disparate thoughts strike Toretto. If he'd known calling Spilner pretty would move his hand, he'd have done it sooner. He wishes it hadn't been that easy.
"Brian -," Spilner stares at him as though he has betrayed him somehow before scrambling up from the couch and stalking away into the night.
Dom's leg is icy hot with the loss of sensation. He puts the beer bottle on his crotch, rolling it along his cloth covered erection to try and get some relief. They hadn't been on the couch long enough for the bottle to lose its chill. Only a few minutes. Just long enough to fuck up his world. In prison the answer was easy, survival, go along to get along.
That excuse doesn't work on the outside where the only way to ease the effect of another man's hand on him is to either jerk himself to completion or get someone to bring him a bucket of ice. Go along to get along offers no refuge in a world where he no longer has to, but as he stares in the direction Spilner went, he wonders that he might want to.
The flames leaping up from metal trashcans cast odd shadows against the scattered trailers and tents.
His head falls against the back of the couch. It's been a long day and his hand and dick are both throbbing. It would be so easy to let his hand slide inside his pants. For just a minute, let it all go. No team, no trucks. Finish what Spilner started. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
A few months after Lompoc, he'd taken a solo road trip to Barstow to pick up a part for the Charger. Turning it into an overnighter, he stayed at a no tell motel with an adjacent dive bar.
That night, at the bar, Corona in hand, a bowl of chips at his elbow, it felt nice to drink with no team drama. The space wasn't much, a couple tables with chair, a few booths, a jukebox and pool table. No one knew him. It was enough.
He'd been at the bar almost an hour, watching a couple guys play pool when he realized he was really only watching one of them. The guy caught him a couple of times. Dom didn't avert his eyes. Enough residual Lompoc clung to him to make him hold his ground. But he had nothing to bridge the gap between what his looking would have meant in prison and what it meant on the outside.
He paid his tab and left before the pool game finished. Most of the night was spent staring at the water stained ceiling of his room. While staring at the ceiling and listening to eighteen wheelers barreling up and down the highway, images of precision driving road pirates took up residence in his head.
He wonders whether he’d be doing anything differently now, if he hadn’t left the bar that night.
*****
Still half hard, Toretto tracks Spilner to one of the far edges of the grounds. He can just barely make out the silhouette occasionally illuminated by the flames flickering out of a garbage can a few feet away. Walking up on Spilner until they are nearly shoulder to shoulder elicits no reaction.
"I'm with Letty."
“You choose that?" Comes back at him. It’s not what he was expecting.
"The fuck you mean by that?"
"I think it just happened. She shows up and it fits with the image so -."
"Shut the fuck up," Dom growls at him.
"I tried the non-verbal, you didn't seem interested."
"You got incredibly shitty timing."
Spilner pivots so that they are face to face. Nearly toe to toe. The flame illuminates Spilner's face just enough for Toretto to see the flicker of something in the other man's features that Toretto hasn’t seen before, can't quite decipher.
"Sometimes you don't get much of a choice about the timing."
Spilner sounds tired which further throws Toretto. What he's getting from the blond now bears little resemblance to the cocksureness on the couch. Or any of the attitude he's seemed bathed in since they met. Unsure what to do with the change, he ignores it.
"Yeah, Jesse couldn't have picked a worse time for his shit."
"You think he's gonna be okay?"
"If I can get to him before Tran than yeah, otherwise..."
"Well, whatever you need on that end man."
"You been a cocktease all your life Spilner or is this a new thing you're trying out?"
Spilner laughs.
"Some people learn a trade in juvie. I learned... other things."
It flashes for Toretto that with the way Spilner looks he'd be the guy on the shit end of a lot of sticks in a lockdown situation.
"Were you...did?"
Brian takes a couple of steps back, putting more space between.
"Nah, man. I've always been pretty good at working the lay of the land, fitting in, deflecting."
"But you...?"
"Yeah, oh yeah. It was like when you get behind the wheel of a car for the first time, that thrill that feeling that this is me. Juvie might have been the best thing to happen to me. And you're only a tease, Toretto if you can't or won't deliver."
"I'm with Letty."
"You got hard for me. You didn't punch me."
Toretto adjusts himself absently, finds Spilner following the movement.
"Incredibly shitty timing. Look we, the team, there's somewhere we gotta go. But after, I was thinking about taking the Charger down to Mexico for a little while. Leave some of this shit behind. Sort a few things out."
That same unidentifiable something flashes across Spilner's face again. Holding his hands palms up, he shrugs.
If Brian Spilner is willing to make his play, stone cold sober, in public and risk a serious ass-kicking, Dominic Toretto figures he can probably trust him to pick up Jesse's slack...among other things.
"I'm down a driver."
fin