F&F fic: No Net Below
For nifra_idril, on the occasion of her 21st birthday, albeit a tad late. Love you, my darling.
Title: No Net Below
Fandom: Fast and the Furious
Pairing: Brian/Dom
Summary: Dom could take him, Brian knows, but maybe they both want to see just how far Brian’s going to push this.
Thanks: to makesmewannadie and shrift for fantastic beta.
No Net Below
He finds Dom at a bar on the south end of town, after driving across the border and straight through the night on adrenaline and a bag of stale chips he’d picked up at a gas station outside L.A. Dom isn’t too hard to find, which should probably concern Brian, but he’s focused, determined.
It’s a little shit town about an hour south of Ensenada, the kind of place that exists to serve truckers, felons on the run, and the screwed-up guys looking for them. Brian drives slowly down the one main street - there’s an old man sitting on the corner, half-shadowed in the dim streetlight, with nicotine-stained teeth and scars running in jagged, raised lines down his neck. They have a brief exchange in broken Spanish that includes hand gestures for ‘bald’ and ‘big’. Five minutes later, Brian’s pulling up outside an old building that droops in the heat, even in the middle of the night.
Dom’s sitting at the end of the bar, his t-shirt sticking to his back, sweaty neck streaked with grit where he’s wiped at it with his hand. Brian walks up silently, sits down. It’s no surprise to Brian that Dom’s not surprised; just turns one eye to him, shakes his head, and throws back another shot of tequila.
Brian never was that great a cop, he can admit this. Wasn’t that his heart wasn’t in it - he loved the rush of it, the danger of it, the way it got him pumped up. He’s come this far, though, and yesterday already feels like it happened in some other life. One that maybe wasn’t even his. On the drive to Mexico, he kept thinking about how smooth and cool his badge had felt when he laid it on the table in front of Tanner. How his gun was heavy and the clip echoed in the room when he popped it out. All night he’d reached up automatically to adjust his shoulder holster, and was surprised every time it wasn’t there.
But Brian likes risks. He likes taking them, seeing how far he can push, how far he can go before the edge falls away underneath him. And Dom’s a risk. Hell, Dom’s a rush, Dom’s danger, Dom’s something that gets Brian pumped up, turned on, twisted up in a million pieces.
“You found me,” Dom grunts.
Brian’s throat is dry. He gestures to the bartender - points at Dom’s empty shot glass and raises two fingers.
They sit in silence. Brian’s throat stings when he tosses back the shot. He watches Dom’s neck muscles contract as he downs his. Dom turns to him fully, eyes narrowing.
“Why are you here?” he asks, leaning in roughly.
Brian sits very still, stares straight ahead. “For the tequila,” he answers, and Dom laughs, loud and short, in his ear.
“Sure,” Dom says, and slaps his hand on the bartop. “You bring backup?”
“It’s just me,” Brian replies, steady as he can. Dom’s so close his liquor-sweet breath is warm on Brian’s neck.
“Which you?” Dom asks, and it stings, worse than the tequila.
Dom’s got the right to be pissed, Brian knows. He could punch Brian right off the barstool, stuff him in his car and send him back to L.A. if he wanted, but Brian knows he won’t. Brian knows Dom - he thinks he does, he wants to, badly - so he lets Dom grip his upper arm and swing him around on the stool to face him.
“What are you doing here, Brian?” Dom demands again, and it’s an accusation.
“Why do you think, Dom?” Brian spits back, jerking his arm from Dom’s rough hold.
Dom just snorts. “Is this the part where I say ‘for me’ and we get all mushy and hug? Cause if so, I’m out.”
The smile that spreads across Brian’s face is slow and lazy, like he has all the time in the world to say this, to answer. He likes the way Dom’s brow gets tight, how his hand wipes again at the back of his neck, how there’s still oil under his nails, a permanent stain.
“I’m here,” Brian says, leaning in to say it directly in Dom’s ear, “and not for the tequila.”
The bartender glances at them, nods his head in the direction of their empty glasses. Dom shakes his head and stands up, unsteady. “I gotta hit the can,” he says, and shoulders his way to the back of the bar.
As intentions go, Brian’s pretty sure his are clear. He thought they were clear the moment he held out his keys to Dom, twisting them around his fingers, giving Dom what he owed, and more. He’d looked at Dom with intent, with promise, and Brian never backs down on promises, even if he doesn’t always do the right thing. But this - this is the right thing; this is a promise he knows he can keep, that he can follow through with.
He slaps some American money on the bar, gets a toothy smile from the bartender, and makes his way to the bathroom. Dom’s coming out just as he reaches for the door, and Brian doesn’t let him get past in the narrow hall - grabs his arm and pushes, up three steps and out the back door into a tiny alley. It’s dusty, closed in and muted with light from the half moon.
He shoves Dom against the brick wall. Dom just glares at him and asks, “You gonna arrest me now?” His voice holds an edge of meanness, but his arms are casual at his sides, body lax and open, like an invitation. Dom could take him, Brian knows, but maybe they both want to see just how far Brian’s going to push this.
Brian steps up to him, leans in. “Don’t have handcuffs,” he says, bracing one arm beside Dom’s head. Dom looks at him evenly. “Don’t have a badge,” he continues, and fists his hand in Dom’s shirt, tugging a little. Dom’s eyes widen, and Brian says, voice dropping, “Don’t have a gun,” and smoothes his hand down Dom’s chest, around Dom’s hip.
Dom’s breathing speeds up, his nostrils flaring. Brian presses close, shifts his hand away from Dom’s hip and cups Dom’s half-hard erection, squeezes. “I got nothing but time,” he whispers in Dom’s ear, and Dom groans.
Yeah, Brian might’ve been a shitty cop, but he can do this. He can give this to Dom, he can push Dom right over with him, even if it means that he’s given up everything, come all this way, to another fucking country, since that’s what it took. And it’ll be worth it, he thinks, because Dom’s hands have found the loops of Brian’s jeans, and he’s pulling Brian in, pressing their hips together.
Dom rocks in to him, and blows out a low breath. “We’ll get caught,” he says.
“Then you’d better fucking be quiet,” Brian replies, and drops to his knees.
Under his hands, Dom’s thighs tighten, and Brian presses his nose in Dom’s denim-covered crotch, rubs against the hardness. Above him, Dom chokes back a moan when Brian unbuttons his jeans, fingers brushing against Dom’s belly. He tugs down the zipper and reaches into Dom’s boxers, pulls out his cock.
He runs his tongue over the head, slowly, as Dom’s chest rises and falls. Licks there more just to hear Dom’s breathing get shorter and faster. He looks up and Dom’s biting his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, so Brian goes lower, takes more in his mouth. One tiny suck, and Dom’s fingers are scrabbling against the brick wall and his head thumps back.
All of Dom’s muscles are straining - Brian looks up and sees Dom’s arms braced on the wall like he’s struggling to stay upright. Brian sucks more, takes Dom deeper and runs his tongue along Dom’s cock, up, down, up, down, and Dom starts grunting, mixed with garbled curses.
Brian grabs himself through his jeans and squeezes, hard. He focuses on Dom, wraps both his hands around Dom’s hips to steady him, pulling back to pay attention to the head, and then Dom’s fingers are on his cheek, soft, and he knows Dom’s trying to be gentle. He feels Dom’s scraped knuckles, broken skin rubbing across his cheek, down his neck. Brian grips the base of Dom’s cock, pumps once, twice, and then goes down again, deep, sucking hard.
Dom chokes, grabs the back of Brian’s neck like he’s forgotten about being gentle, about how they’re supposed to be quiet, about how they’ve never done this before. They’re in the back alley behind a seedy dive bar; it’s going to be over too fast and won’t be sweet at all. Brian’s going to make sure of that, and he moves faster, lets Dom pull his hair, fingers twisted in the curls.
Dom’s hips suddenly snap forward, and Brian chokes a little, eyes watering. His throat is going to be sore and raw in the morning, but he concentrates on breathing through his nose, slow and even. He looks up - Dom’s lips are curled back around his teeth, and he’s pushing rough and steady into Brian’s mouth. Brian holds still and clutches Dom’s hips, pulling him in over and over, letting Dom take this, letting Dom get what he needs.
The thrusts are getting faster, and Brian knows Dom’s not holding back, not with him, not with this. Dom starts moaning Brian’s name, low, until he stiffens once, and Brian pulls back quickly, just before Dom comes all over the front of Brian’s t-shirt, on his neck, wet and warm under the edge of his collar.
Brian stays still, listens to Dom force his breath to even out, his fingers stiff as they release Brian’s hair. Dom keeps his hand cupped around the back of Brian’s neck, pulls a little. He stands up on wobbly legs, wraps one hand around Dom’s arm for balance.
In the small space between them, Dom zips up one-handed, hand still tight on Brian’s neck. A quick glance down at Brian’s jeans, erection outlined against the denim, and Dom says, “I’ve got a place near here,” voice hoarse.
Brian wipes his mouth with the back of his free hand and grins, wide and sure. “So let’s go,” he replies. Dom grins back and makes to push off the wall, but Brian leans in, touches his forehead to Dom’s.
The light is turning watery as the sun tries to rise in the alley. Brian can see the dark edges of Dom’s pupils outlined in white, and he keeps his own eyes open when he presses a dry kiss to the side of Dom’s mouth. Dom sucks in a breath, slowly runs his tongue along the edge of his lips and drops his hand from Brian’s neck, punches him lightly on the arm.
Yeah, Brian thinks, we can do this.
Title: No Net Below
Fandom: Fast and the Furious
Pairing: Brian/Dom
Summary: Dom could take him, Brian knows, but maybe they both want to see just how far Brian’s going to push this.
Thanks: to makesmewannadie and shrift for fantastic beta.
No Net Below
He finds Dom at a bar on the south end of town, after driving across the border and straight through the night on adrenaline and a bag of stale chips he’d picked up at a gas station outside L.A. Dom isn’t too hard to find, which should probably concern Brian, but he’s focused, determined.
It’s a little shit town about an hour south of Ensenada, the kind of place that exists to serve truckers, felons on the run, and the screwed-up guys looking for them. Brian drives slowly down the one main street - there’s an old man sitting on the corner, half-shadowed in the dim streetlight, with nicotine-stained teeth and scars running in jagged, raised lines down his neck. They have a brief exchange in broken Spanish that includes hand gestures for ‘bald’ and ‘big’. Five minutes later, Brian’s pulling up outside an old building that droops in the heat, even in the middle of the night.
Dom’s sitting at the end of the bar, his t-shirt sticking to his back, sweaty neck streaked with grit where he’s wiped at it with his hand. Brian walks up silently, sits down. It’s no surprise to Brian that Dom’s not surprised; just turns one eye to him, shakes his head, and throws back another shot of tequila.
Brian never was that great a cop, he can admit this. Wasn’t that his heart wasn’t in it - he loved the rush of it, the danger of it, the way it got him pumped up. He’s come this far, though, and yesterday already feels like it happened in some other life. One that maybe wasn’t even his. On the drive to Mexico, he kept thinking about how smooth and cool his badge had felt when he laid it on the table in front of Tanner. How his gun was heavy and the clip echoed in the room when he popped it out. All night he’d reached up automatically to adjust his shoulder holster, and was surprised every time it wasn’t there.
But Brian likes risks. He likes taking them, seeing how far he can push, how far he can go before the edge falls away underneath him. And Dom’s a risk. Hell, Dom’s a rush, Dom’s danger, Dom’s something that gets Brian pumped up, turned on, twisted up in a million pieces.
“You found me,” Dom grunts.
Brian’s throat is dry. He gestures to the bartender - points at Dom’s empty shot glass and raises two fingers.
They sit in silence. Brian’s throat stings when he tosses back the shot. He watches Dom’s neck muscles contract as he downs his. Dom turns to him fully, eyes narrowing.
“Why are you here?” he asks, leaning in roughly.
Brian sits very still, stares straight ahead. “For the tequila,” he answers, and Dom laughs, loud and short, in his ear.
“Sure,” Dom says, and slaps his hand on the bartop. “You bring backup?”
“It’s just me,” Brian replies, steady as he can. Dom’s so close his liquor-sweet breath is warm on Brian’s neck.
“Which you?” Dom asks, and it stings, worse than the tequila.
Dom’s got the right to be pissed, Brian knows. He could punch Brian right off the barstool, stuff him in his car and send him back to L.A. if he wanted, but Brian knows he won’t. Brian knows Dom - he thinks he does, he wants to, badly - so he lets Dom grip his upper arm and swing him around on the stool to face him.
“What are you doing here, Brian?” Dom demands again, and it’s an accusation.
“Why do you think, Dom?” Brian spits back, jerking his arm from Dom’s rough hold.
Dom just snorts. “Is this the part where I say ‘for me’ and we get all mushy and hug? Cause if so, I’m out.”
The smile that spreads across Brian’s face is slow and lazy, like he has all the time in the world to say this, to answer. He likes the way Dom’s brow gets tight, how his hand wipes again at the back of his neck, how there’s still oil under his nails, a permanent stain.
“I’m here,” Brian says, leaning in to say it directly in Dom’s ear, “and not for the tequila.”
The bartender glances at them, nods his head in the direction of their empty glasses. Dom shakes his head and stands up, unsteady. “I gotta hit the can,” he says, and shoulders his way to the back of the bar.
As intentions go, Brian’s pretty sure his are clear. He thought they were clear the moment he held out his keys to Dom, twisting them around his fingers, giving Dom what he owed, and more. He’d looked at Dom with intent, with promise, and Brian never backs down on promises, even if he doesn’t always do the right thing. But this - this is the right thing; this is a promise he knows he can keep, that he can follow through with.
He slaps some American money on the bar, gets a toothy smile from the bartender, and makes his way to the bathroom. Dom’s coming out just as he reaches for the door, and Brian doesn’t let him get past in the narrow hall - grabs his arm and pushes, up three steps and out the back door into a tiny alley. It’s dusty, closed in and muted with light from the half moon.
He shoves Dom against the brick wall. Dom just glares at him and asks, “You gonna arrest me now?” His voice holds an edge of meanness, but his arms are casual at his sides, body lax and open, like an invitation. Dom could take him, Brian knows, but maybe they both want to see just how far Brian’s going to push this.
Brian steps up to him, leans in. “Don’t have handcuffs,” he says, bracing one arm beside Dom’s head. Dom looks at him evenly. “Don’t have a badge,” he continues, and fists his hand in Dom’s shirt, tugging a little. Dom’s eyes widen, and Brian says, voice dropping, “Don’t have a gun,” and smoothes his hand down Dom’s chest, around Dom’s hip.
Dom’s breathing speeds up, his nostrils flaring. Brian presses close, shifts his hand away from Dom’s hip and cups Dom’s half-hard erection, squeezes. “I got nothing but time,” he whispers in Dom’s ear, and Dom groans.
Yeah, Brian might’ve been a shitty cop, but he can do this. He can give this to Dom, he can push Dom right over with him, even if it means that he’s given up everything, come all this way, to another fucking country, since that’s what it took. And it’ll be worth it, he thinks, because Dom’s hands have found the loops of Brian’s jeans, and he’s pulling Brian in, pressing their hips together.
Dom rocks in to him, and blows out a low breath. “We’ll get caught,” he says.
“Then you’d better fucking be quiet,” Brian replies, and drops to his knees.
Under his hands, Dom’s thighs tighten, and Brian presses his nose in Dom’s denim-covered crotch, rubs against the hardness. Above him, Dom chokes back a moan when Brian unbuttons his jeans, fingers brushing against Dom’s belly. He tugs down the zipper and reaches into Dom’s boxers, pulls out his cock.
He runs his tongue over the head, slowly, as Dom’s chest rises and falls. Licks there more just to hear Dom’s breathing get shorter and faster. He looks up and Dom’s biting his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, so Brian goes lower, takes more in his mouth. One tiny suck, and Dom’s fingers are scrabbling against the brick wall and his head thumps back.
All of Dom’s muscles are straining - Brian looks up and sees Dom’s arms braced on the wall like he’s struggling to stay upright. Brian sucks more, takes Dom deeper and runs his tongue along Dom’s cock, up, down, up, down, and Dom starts grunting, mixed with garbled curses.
Brian grabs himself through his jeans and squeezes, hard. He focuses on Dom, wraps both his hands around Dom’s hips to steady him, pulling back to pay attention to the head, and then Dom’s fingers are on his cheek, soft, and he knows Dom’s trying to be gentle. He feels Dom’s scraped knuckles, broken skin rubbing across his cheek, down his neck. Brian grips the base of Dom’s cock, pumps once, twice, and then goes down again, deep, sucking hard.
Dom chokes, grabs the back of Brian’s neck like he’s forgotten about being gentle, about how they’re supposed to be quiet, about how they’ve never done this before. They’re in the back alley behind a seedy dive bar; it’s going to be over too fast and won’t be sweet at all. Brian’s going to make sure of that, and he moves faster, lets Dom pull his hair, fingers twisted in the curls.
Dom’s hips suddenly snap forward, and Brian chokes a little, eyes watering. His throat is going to be sore and raw in the morning, but he concentrates on breathing through his nose, slow and even. He looks up - Dom’s lips are curled back around his teeth, and he’s pushing rough and steady into Brian’s mouth. Brian holds still and clutches Dom’s hips, pulling him in over and over, letting Dom take this, letting Dom get what he needs.
The thrusts are getting faster, and Brian knows Dom’s not holding back, not with him, not with this. Dom starts moaning Brian’s name, low, until he stiffens once, and Brian pulls back quickly, just before Dom comes all over the front of Brian’s t-shirt, on his neck, wet and warm under the edge of his collar.
Brian stays still, listens to Dom force his breath to even out, his fingers stiff as they release Brian’s hair. Dom keeps his hand cupped around the back of Brian’s neck, pulls a little. He stands up on wobbly legs, wraps one hand around Dom’s arm for balance.
In the small space between them, Dom zips up one-handed, hand still tight on Brian’s neck. A quick glance down at Brian’s jeans, erection outlined against the denim, and Dom says, “I’ve got a place near here,” voice hoarse.
Brian wipes his mouth with the back of his free hand and grins, wide and sure. “So let’s go,” he replies. Dom grins back and makes to push off the wall, but Brian leans in, touches his forehead to Dom’s.
The light is turning watery as the sun tries to rise in the alley. Brian can see the dark edges of Dom’s pupils outlined in white, and he keeps his own eyes open when he presses a dry kiss to the side of Dom’s mouth. Dom sucks in a breath, slowly runs his tongue along the edge of his lips and drops his hand from Brian’s neck, punches him lightly on the arm.
Yeah, Brian thinks, we can do this.