Fic: The Way Home (1/2), NC-17, Dom/Brian
Title: The Way Home (1 of 2)
Author: elfin
Fandom: The Fast & The Furious (Series)
Pairing: Dom / Brian
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 16.769 over two posts, both to be posted tonight - complete story can be found at www.sundive.co.uk
Notes: Firstly - apologies to anyone who lives in Central America or is well travelled around there. I have only the internet to guide me so I apologise if descriptions of towns and cities are off. Second - this fic is AU only in that a) Leon and Vince were with Dom and Letty in the Dominican Republic and b) it's Leon and Vince who are driving the third car when Brian busts Dom off the prison bus
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me
“Maybe you’re not the good guy pretending to be the bad guy. Maybe you’re the bad guy pretending to be the good guy. You ever think about that?”
“Every day.”
- Mia & Brian, Fast and Furious
The Way Home
by elfin
I'd know that engine anywhere.
And while seeing Brian should be a surprise, it just isn't. The Charger sure is, Mia is, Vince and Leon being anywhere near him. Three great big fucking shocks. But then so is going from imprisonment to freedom, from having no future to having the world at my feet, in the time it takes me to drive a quarter mile. I should yell at Brian for dragging Mia into this but she's a big girl now, but I’m too happy, too stunned, and as much as I don’t want to admit it if she wanted in no one could have stopped her. Not me. Certainly not him.
They leave all the other prisoners still chained inside the bus, leave the guards restrained but unhurt. It's a neat job, no one gets more than a bruised cheek and a black eye; Brian's planning no doubt.
The guy never stops flooring me; from that morning five years ago, leaping from a moving car to a moving truck to rescue Vince, blowing his cover right in front of me to save the guy’s life, later handing me the keys to the car and letting me escape to save mine. Five years on there’s the thing with Braga - I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I think he would have let me shoot the guy in that church and not batted a pretty eyelid - and now this crazy ass stunt. He threw his career to the wind for me once and somehow salvaged it. Now he’s doing it again and this time I doubt there’s going to be any second - third - chances. Like last time, he tried to make me run this time too, and after I refused to leave he gave a testimonial in court that should have earned me sainthood, never mind kept me out of Lompoc. But the judge played hardass, gave me twenty-five to life, and now Brian's showing the world what he thinks of that. How the hell can I not feel anything for the guy? How the hell can my car be here like this, in one piece?
I seriously thought my life was over, for the last few weeks all I’ve known for certain is that I’m going to jail, with chances of ever getting out being slim to nil. But instead of being chained to some murdering bastard I’m staring at the open road as Brian puts a lot of mileage between us and the crime scene. It’s taking me a while to catch up.
There’s the blast of a horn and a blur of black as Leon and Vince take the lead in a plain black Honda, leaving us in the middle, Mia bringing up the rear in a blue and silver Skyline I haven't seen before. From what I can see in the mirror’s it’s got enough mods to make insurance a nightmare, looks like it might glow in the dark too, but it’s not flashy enough on the outside to draw any unnecessary attention. I wonder where it’s come from. Then I turn and stare at Brian as he drives the Charger with all the confidence in the world, like he belongs behind the wheel of my car.
“You’re the last person in the world I expected to show up,” I tell him, just to have something to say. He’s happy, beaming; looks like a kid at Christmas, not an ex-cop on the run.
“Am not,” he throws back and now I can’t wipe the smile off my own face.
Nothing phases him. Despite everything we've been through the only time I've seen fear in his eyes was out there by the side of the road that morning, with Vince's blood all over us, making the call that saved Vince's life and blowing his cover to do it. I could have killed him with my bare hands at that moment and he knew it. But the fear I saw wasn't of me, wasn't even for me. It was for Vince, a guy who hated him, who'd beat the shit out of him as soon as look at him; it was fear of what would happen to Vince if Brian died right there and then with my hands around his throat. I didn't hurt him, not then, and by the time I got my hands on a shotgun and he was standing in front of me, I couldn't hurt him. God help me, the way I felt about him, I couldn’t even threaten him.
He drives me crazy, because no one has ever given so much for me and I don’t get why he, of all people, does. No one else has ever thrown away their life just to keep me out of jail. And why? Because one night I told him I'd never go back, that I'd die first. And man, did he take that to heart.
I look over at him, meaning to thank him, but before I can get a word out, he says, "Strip," and it takes me a moment to process. "There's a change of clothes in the back." He's smiling, joy radiating from him. "Orange isn't your colour, man."
Message received. We’re on an open road and I’m sticking out like a sore thumb. But a guy my size stripping in the front of a muscle car built for racing isn't easy. He ducks my elbow a couple of times, and I swear I can hear him fighting the urge to laugh. I'm fighting the urge to elbow him in the balls even though I'm not sure I can make it look accidental.
A white shirt and faded blue jeans are in the back, neatly folded. I reach over and grab them once I'm down to my briefs, throwing the orange jumpsuit at Brian who winds down the window and lets it fly in the slipstream. I guess the cops don't need the extra clue that we're heading south, still it’s probably not the wisest of ideas but Brian's grinning like a loon and it makes me feel fearless, just like him. I experience a sudden need to snatch back some balance here. So I wait until I've somehow got into my jeans and let my eyes settle on him, wait until he glances over at me, and say,
"You look so hot drivin' this car."
It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and as his grin fades I turn away, shrug on the shirt and gaze out of the window as I button up, ignoring the question that’s written all over his face and his slightly high-pitched, “What?”
I leave it for five miles and he just drives. He’s quiet, and that’s so unlike him it throws me so in the end I have to make conversation.
“How long have we got?”
He looks at me. “Until they realise something’s wrong. All the buses are low-jacked, so normally they’d already know. But we got some help hacking the signal, so now we’ve got until the guards free themselves or until they realise the vehicle they think they’re tracking hasn’t arrived in Lompoc when their GPS says it has.”
He’s got a real talent for this stuff. “So where’re we goin’?”
“San Jose, Costa Rica. For now. Further, maybe, later.” That’s cool. I stopped in Costa Rica before, on my way to Panama. I like the place, like the city. Hell, anywhere will do. He holds out his hands, letting the wheel go for just a second. He’s still smiling, like it’s plastered permanently to his face. “However far we need to go to keep you out of Lompoc.”
He’s gone pretty damn far already. It’s blown my mind - this seemingly unconditional devotion - I don’t know what to do with it. I definitely don’t understand it. I wonder if there’s anything he won’t do for me. It’s heavy stuff I’m not ready to deal with, we’ve got a long drive and we definitely don’t need any more tension between us. Time to change the subject. So I lean across to glance in the rear view and I ask who the Skyline belongs to. I don’t need a verbal answer; it’s there in his eyes when he glances in the mirror.
I nod. “Nice.”
“I practically built it from scratch, raced it in Miami. I’ve taken some of the more... ostentatious mods off, but it’s a good car. It’ll do us proud, you know, if we need spare cash.”
I nod, catching his meaning. He didn’t say much about Miami in the short time we had back in L.A. I know it’s where the Feds finally caught up with him after chasing him across the entire country. I know it’s where he finally joined up again - another short-lived relationship. So I know about the ‘what’ and I know about the ‘why’. But all I know about the ‘how’ is something about drugs and money and a guy - Roman Pearce. I don’t know who he is and I don’t want to know. Brian hasn’t said much - just that he’s an old friend and they have history. I remember him telling us over dinner. I remember saying something like, ‘you and I have history too’. I remember Mia’s expression. Mom used to look at me like that when I was acting particularly childish.
I definitely don’t want to ask him about that now. Like I said, there’s enough tension in this car as it is. And I can tease him about the colour of the Skyline later. There’s all this stuff between us and the deepest conversation we’ve had since he threw his life away for me the first time around was about the benefits of electronic fuel injection or maybe it wasn’t. Still, this doesn’t seem to be the time for a meaningful chat. I could ask him if he won in Miami, but it’s pointless. Of course he won, every single time. Bet the Florida scene didn’t know what hit it. So for the next hundred miles or so, neither of us talks. It’s not awkward, it’s comfortable. It feels right.
Several miles before the Mexican border at Heroica Nogales, Brian leans over into the back with one hand on the wheel and his big toe still on the gas and pulls a large envelope from behind my seat.
“I’d have done that,” I point out as he drops the envelope in my lap. He just smiles. Show off. I open it up and let the contents fall into my lap. Currency, permits, passports, insurance, drivers’ licences; all in the names of Brian Connolly and Dominic Santos.
“Mia, Leon and Vince have theirs, along with vehicle permits and insurance for the cars. Borders shouldn’t be a problem, but there’s enough cash, just in case.”
It’s a minute or two before I can speak. “You’re a natural at working the other side of the law, Brian.”
He laughs. “When you’re a cop you mix with the crème of society.”
At the border crossing we blend in with the tourists, put a few cars between our own and get lucky, get across. No problem.
Ten miles into Mexico, Vince and Leon pull into a gas station and Brian follows, Mia close behind us. It's the first chance I've had to thank them. I hug Mia. Leon and Vince hug me. Vince mutters that maybe the narc cop isn't so bad after all. Nice of him to admit it after Brian not only saved his life but kept him, kept all of us, out of jail. Still I know how much it cost him to say it - there's more to his wariness of Brian than just the obvious - and I nod my agreement but add, "I don't think he's a cop anymore."
We refuel then hit the store for water and snacks. Mia corners me as I'm lifting a six pack of Corona from the fridge and asks me seriously if I want to ride with her. I thought women were supposed to be more attuned to these things, whatever these things are. All I say is, "Nah, we're good," and she looks at me in a way that makes me wonder if she's given Brian the same 'break his heart, I'll break your neck' speech that I did. The thought makes me cringe.
It’s not like I’m not about to ask the guy out on a date, although I can see us sitting in some bar in San Jose sharing tapas, drinking cold beer, talking about something other than car engines. Don't know what he'd think about that, don't know how he feels about me, don't know what he wants. Don’t know what I’m willing to offer. He's never asked anything of me, given me everything and never asked for anything in return. Given everything he's done, it’s a fair bet he feels something but whether it's kinship, lust or anything in between, I have no idea. It isn't news that Brian's capable of taking me for a ride, but I think - I know - it's been real for the most part.
And this isn't getting me anywhere.
I dump the beer on the counter and Leon dumps a pile of unhealthy crap on top, looking pleased with himself. Mia adds in the water and Brian pays for everything, making me wonder if they hit an armoured truck on their way to get me. I try to let it go, but once we get on the road again I can't help myself. I wouldn't be surprised if Brian told me to butt out of his business, but instead he tells me that he and his friend stole a ton of cash from the bust in Miami.
"Rome bought a garage," he says, "I stuck it in the bank for a rainy day." Apparently a rainy day in Brian’s life is one where he needs to bust a friend off a prison transport.
“Feds didn’t miss it?”
“Feds never knew how much we were transporting.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Were you ever actually a cop, Brian?” I get serious, reach over, tap his chest with my knuckles as he drives, “in here?”
He glances down at my hand, over at me, then back at the road. And he shrugs. “Maybe once.” Then his face lights up and he looks back at me. “No room anymore.”
That’s a line I’m not going near. It’s like walking through a minefield, talking to him, which is why we spent the last hundred miles in silence and why we’ll be spending the next hundred miles the same way if I don’t give him something. It’s not that he hasn’t earned it, that he doesn’t deserve it or that I don’t have it to give. It’s just that if I start, I don’t know how I’ll stop.
“Thanks.” It’s not much. It’s nothing. I said it when I first saw him, first saw the car - my car, my Dad’s car - rescued and restored in a matter of weeks; the time it took the Feds to process and prosecute my ass. He must have fuckin’ lived and breathed engine parts and body work because I saw it hit that wall in the tunnel. I saw the explosion in my rear view. There can’t have been that much left of her. I realise he’s been planning this long before I was sentenced - contingency - just in case things went the way they did. I owe him my life and my freedom. Whatever debts he racked up first time around have been paid in full.
He shrugs it off like it’s nothing, says, “you’re welcome,” and I know I am. Like it’s the least he can do. But it isn’t nothing and sitting here, watching the road disappear beneath the car, I finally need him to acknowledge that.
“Why are you doing all this?" I want to know but he shakes his head. "Brian... please.”
I almost regret it when his face clouds over. His smile’s like the sun; too long in his company and I start to feel like I need it just to breathe. It’s what got me hooked in the first place. When we met up again in L.A. I thought he’d be a different guy to the Brian I knew and he is, in a way, but it’s just skin deep. Underneath he’s the same. He looks harder but his heart is the same. A lot’s happened to both of us over the last five years, I’ve no idea what’s been going on with him, not really, but I’ll get it out of him sooner or later - I’ve got time now.
“Brian?”
“Letty.” He blurts it out and it’s nothing I didn’t expect even though it's not the answer I'm looking for. “I got her killed. The woman you love.” His voice starts to break and just for a split-second he sounds frightened, the way he did in the desert, making the call to save a life when for all he knew it was gonna cost him his own.
Reaching across I squeeze his shoulder. “Not your fault, Brian. Once she got it in her mind to do something, she’d have done it no matter what. If not you, some other Fed, some other cop. She did it for me. And I got the guy who killed her. Mourn her, but don’t beat yourself up over it.”
I’ve beaten myself up over it - beaten him up over it too. I was so angry, so fucking angry when I found out about him running Letty. And it had been a long time coming; we were due a fight, something physical to break the tension. I’m not angry now, but I am pissed off. Because even now he’s still lyin’ to me and I want to know why. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I already know why, deep down.
When I let my hand drop he’s smiling again, only slightly but it won’t take long to get the rest of the way so I relax, dig into a bag of Cheetos and just let him drive, offering them to him. He reaches in, takes a handful and stuffs them into his mouth.
Sitting watching him munching his way through a mouthful of cheesy snacks probably isn’t the best time for an epiphany, and it’s not really an epiphany. I remember back when he used to just come to the store for tuna sandwiches every lunchtime, I noticed him. Hard not to. Kept catching myself on his eyes; two-tone blue, shining like fuckin’ sapphires. Getting to know him, he kinda lost that shine. But it didn’t stop me wanting him around, at the garage, at the house. I wanted him showing up after he finished his shift at Harry’s. Maybe he’d say he was just playing a part, but I know when someone’s playing me and he just wasn’t, not all the time. It was his first undercover gig, he went in heart and soul. I don’t know if he got out with either intact.
This time around, he was the one in control. When I first laid eyes on him again after five years, I thought I didn’t know him. But as angry as I wanted to be with him, as cool as I played it, one of those looks, one of those smiles and it all crumbled away; I was smilin’ right back at him before I knew what I was doing. When it all went to shit, I knew he’d match my play, knew he had my back. It felt good to be able to trust him, to know without a shadow of a doubt that I could trust him. Even though he was working for the Feds. He protected me at every turn. And in the garage, the night before we went for Braga, when he told me he was coming with me, something between us shifted. He wasn’t the buster any longer; he wasn’t looking for my approval or my respect. He was my friend, was becoming my partner. Then he went after Mia when she got back from the store, and the sudden spike of jealousy was a surprise and a shock when I guess it shouldn’t have been.
“Can’t believe you’re still lying to me, Brian,” I tell him gently and he shoots a look at me before thrusting his hand back into the bag of Cheetos to fill his mouth. “You threw your life away five years ago for me. You’re throwing it away again now. Why?”
He doesn’t speak again until he’s finished crunching. Then he asks, “Why does it matter, Dom?”
It’s an easy answer. I thought about it while I was waiting for the conviction hearing because it was easier to think about that than about where I was headed. “Because no one’s ever shown me the kind of loyalty you do. Not Vince, not Leon. And I don’t know what to do with that, not when there isn’t a bad guy to be chasing.” Brian smiles but doesn’t speak. “I’ll get it out of you eventually,” I promise, lightening the mood.
He glances at me. “We’re driving to Costa Rica; a week on the road, five nights in shitty motel rooms. Should give you plenty of time to try.”
I give it up for the time being. Like he says, there’s time. Instead, I ask Brian how the hell he rescued my Dad’s Charger from the smoking ruins I left it in and he spends the next two hundred miles telling me, every detail, talking until we pull into the dusty parking lot of a motel just outside Chihuahua.
Brian gets three rooms - two twins and a double - handing Mia the key to the double. I assume he’s sharing with her until he grabs two holdalls from the back of the Skyline and hands one to me, leading the way into one of the twin rooms. Mia doesn’t seem to bat an eyelid, so she obviously wasn’t expecting them to share. I’ve no idea what’s happened because before we left for Mexico and for Braga they fucked on the kitchen table while I tuned the Charger’s new engine. Part of me wants to ask her what’s going on, another part is telling me to leave it alone. So I leave it alone, for now.
The pathetic, luke-warm shower feels like bliss and when I get out, the room’s door is open and Brian’s outside, leaning against the wall, a lit cigarette hanging between his fingers. I didn’t even know he smoked.
There’s a bar down the road and we walk the short distance to sink a few. It’s not busy and there’s no competition as Brian racks up the balls on the pool table. He beats Leon while I chat to Vince and Mia, then beats Vince while Leon chats Mia up. I take the cue from Vince as soon as he’s defeated. Might as well play if I’m going to sit and watch Brian's ass anyway. At least this way I have an excuse. I remember walking into Braga’s club, seeing him bent over the pool table to take his shot, his head turning, eyes meeting mine. At that moment five years of vague late-night fantasies, blurry lunchtime day-dreams and casual early morning imaginings solidified into one inevitable fact. One I only finally accepted on the road this afternoon.
Brian plays like a pro. He wiped Leon out in nine minutes, Vince in six. I have ideas of making my game last, but he keeps looking up at me as he lines up his shots, and there's heat in his eyes when he catches me looking right back at him each and every time. I don't know what he wants, but I'm starting to get an inkling of what he's feelin'.
He clears the table in four minutes. I take three shots and barely notice I’m supposed to be playing pool. What I do notice is that when he bends over the table, my blood tends to run south. I want him so badly during the game it's starting to hurt. I want to be inside him, buried in him, my body flush to his, surrounded by the heat of him, breathing him in. I’ve been with exactly two guys outside of Lompoc; Chris, a speed crazy kid I knew when I was a horny teenager looking for sex anywhere I could get it, and Han, a guy from way back, someone I hooked up with again after running from L.A. With both of them it was easy. We knew what we wanted and we took it. I have no idea, despite everything he’s done for me and my team, what Brian wants from me. The way he looks at me is all challenge and heat and longing. I might be looking at him the same way. But he’s never made the slightest move. Maybe because he thinks I’ll punch his lights out if he does.
It’s an almost overwhelming temptation to take a couple of steps forward, put one foot between his legs, my hands on his hips, just hook my thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and pull him back towards me. I doubt being in public would stop him from taking something he wants if he knows it’s available, so I can imagine his mouth finding mine - open and wet - eager hands reaching for me.
“Dom!”
Brian’s waving another Corona under my nose as Mia’s racking up the balls on the table. I grab it from him like it’s his fault I didn’t hear the first however many times he said my name. But he just smiles and reaches for his cue.
Mia beats him in three minutes dead. He gets on the table once. My sister the hustler. He’s a gracious loser, buying another round before we head back to the motel. I think maybe he’ll peel off with Mia but although they do hug goodnight, he follows me into the room where we left our bags, closes and locks the door behind us. He offers me the bathroom and I take him up on it before climbing fully clothed onto the bed. I listen to Brian take a shower and let my imagination run wild until the water stops. I’ve turned the light off, but if he suspects anything’s wrong when he steps out of the bathroom, butt naked, towelling his hair dry, he doesn’t show it. I can’t help but stare at him in the neon-lit gloom as he digs out a pair of clean shorts from his bag and pulls them on, dropping the towel to the floor as he makes himself comfortable on the second bed. If he’s a messy shit normally, I don’t have a clue. I didn’t know he smoked, didn’t know he was great at pool. I don’t know anything about the guy.
Turning to look at him, watching his silhouette scratching its chest, it’s a minute before I can find my voice.
“Brian?”
“Yeah?”
“Who are you?”
He laughs softly at the ceiling. “I’m the man keeping your ass out of jail, Toretto.” He says it almost like he’s kidding around when it’s the God honest truth.
“Yeah, and I don’t get why.” I can hear him sighing. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“You know I love cars. You know I can drive. You know you can trust me.” He says the last part really quietly.
“I know I can.”
“What else do you need?”
My turn to sigh in frustration. "Answers, bro!"
"Start with the easy questions then."
“Okay... where did you grow up?”
He laughs again but plays the game. “Barstow.”
Barstow?! How the hell does a guy like Brian grow up in Barstow? I totally bought the Arizona story. “Brothers? Sisters?”
“Nope. Just me.”
I kinda feel sorry for him. “First love?”
There’s a smile in his voice when he says, “A black 1969 Chevy Impala. Friend of my Dad’s owned it - kept it in beautiful condition, not a scratch. The engine made this incredible guttural sound. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.” He’s teasing me, I can hear it but I don’t make anything of it. He’s got good taste.
“First time?”
There’s a long pause, and I’m not sure he’s going to answer. But maybe he’s just been remembering, because he’s not hesitating when he replies, “First kiss was Joanne Parker, I was nine, she was twelve. Behind the bins at school.” Charming. “First fuck... Sara Torres, in her parents’ bed while they were at a funeral. First blow job... Tom Garcia, in the showers after football practice."
Strange, but I was kinda expecting that last one. Even if it wasn’t true I thought he’d throw in a curve ball just to wind me up. No point in not responding. “You let a guy blow you?”
I can see him shrug, lifting his shoulders off the bed. “He’d wanted me all year. He was good at it too.” He turns his head towards me and I swear I can see his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You said it, Dom - a guy can appreciate a fine body no matter what the make.”
I start to wonder how he knew about that, then stop. It was something I said to Gisele in the garage at Braga’s club and Brian was all over the place that night, acting so much like a cop I’m stunned they didn’t see right through him. But then again, I didn’t. The beer is settling heavy on top of stress and exhaustion and my eyes start to close of their own accord. “Why did you let me go, Brian?” I try again, one final time today.
He replies, “I couldn’t let them lock you up. I won’t let them. I’ll die before I’ll let you go back.”
Fuck.
I want to respond but I don’t know what to say and I’m too exhausted to think of anything. It’s the last thing I remember before waking up alone at sunrise. It’s not something I’m ever going to forget.
#
For a moment, I panic. But it only takes a glance out of the window to see the cars still parked where we left them. I take a shower and change clothes before Brian gets back with coffee. We hit the road just after seven, Leon and Vince again asking if I’m okay travelling with Brian. I don’t even bother answering, just take the keys Brian’s silently offering, and climb into the driver’s seat of the Charger. He walks around the front of the car, looking a little unsure, so I say his name just once and he doesn’t need a second invite, just opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. I notice my sister’s expression as he does and really hope that didn’t sound like me calling him like he’s some fucking dog.
I didn’t ask about him and Mia last night, but then I figure he might be more comfortable telling me if both my hands are on the wheel and half my attention is on the road. So once we’re on our way, I ask.
He drops his head back against the car seat and I’m thinking he isn’t going to answer like he hasn’t answered the other big questions. But eventually he spills.
“We talked about it, about what we’re doing, where we were going. And we decided to do it as friends, not lovers.”
I don’t get it. “If you love her....”
“I do love her, Dom.” He says it like he needs to convince me. I was convinced five years ago. Then he says something which completely blows my mind. “I love you both.”
I know. I mean, I know he loves Mia. And the devotion, the loyalty he’s showing me, has to be based on some deep feelings of some kind. I shouldn’t ask but I can’t keep my mouth shut. “How, Brian?”
Brian turns and he looks at me, genuinely confused. “How...?”
I scraped together the courage to ask once, I can’t do it again, like I can’t ask what he wants from me. Shaking my head, I give the road and the car my full attention. The Charger feels fantastic, sounds perfect: deep like thunder. I lose myself in it for a while until Brian turns toward me and starts asking questions of his own.
“Dom... you knew the Feds wouldn’t let you walk, so why didn’t you run? Why did you stay just to let them take you in?”
I bite back my first answer: because I couldn’t leave him, couldn’t walk away again, not knowing if it was going to be another five years until I next saw him or if I’d ever see him. I still don’t know whether he quit the FBI or whether they kicked his ass outta there, but I knew he’d be in trouble. Okay, so we delivered Braga alive, but we left a trail of destruction in our wake. I don’t think they’d have patted him on the back and sent him home with a full paycheck and a ‘thank you’.
“Couldn’t let you take the rap for everything.” It’s a casual throw-away comment he isn’t buying but he is smiling, rolling his eyes when I glance across at him.
“Right. So instead we have to bust you off a prison bus and I lose my job again!” There’s absolutely no bitterness to back up his words, he’s teasing.
“Were you still a Fed when you busted me off the bus?”
He shakes his head. “Not since the day they sent you down. I left my badge and gun on my desk on my way out.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“I got it when you asked me if I left cookies out for Santa.” There’s humour lacing what otherwise is self-disgust over falling for their bullshit, believing in it because he likes to trust people. “I’d made my mind up when I went with you to Mexico. Then you started doing the right thing and fucked everything up....” He’s grinning again.
“Sorry, man.”
“Should think so.” Another shrug of those narrow shoulders and long arms. He’s all limbs, like a living, breathing rag doll in the seat. “Hell, we’d still be in the same situation if we’d shot Braga in Mexico.” Situation not mess. We not you. “Only I wouldn’t have had to spend a hundred grand rebuilding your car.” A hundred grand?!
“Fuck, Brian, how much did you and your friend steal down in Miami?”
“Five hundred grand between us.” I’m stunned at how much he’s given me and I’m not just talkin’ about the money he’s sunk into my car. Although, I guess now it’s our car.
He falls quiet and now I really need to know so I ask, “Who was he, Bri?” Shortening his name, it’s proprietary, possessive. I do it on purpose. “Your friend in Miami.”
Of all the possible reactions, I didn’t expect him to laugh. It’s not in a cruel way, but more like he’s known all along that the question’s been coming, that I’ve been waiting to ask. “Man, that’s really clawing at you, isn’t it? I remember what you said about history, when I mentioned him that night over dinner.” He’s not laughing any more but he’s beaming, like this has really tickled him. I’m embarrassed as hell but I’ve asked now, and I want an answer. “Rome and I grew up together. Then he was an idiot, got himself arrested. Even though there was nothin’ I could have done about it he got it into his head that I hadn’t wanted to. When the Feds caught up with me in Miami I needed a driver to back me up. They said they’d clear his record. It was something I could do for him, finally. I’d fucked up my life but at least I could fix his.”
It was a lot to take in. “Is that how you feel? That doing what you did for me... fucked up your life?”
He glances at me, and there’s a serious look in his eyes I haven’t seen before. “Not what I did for you. That’s about the only thing I did right. The rest of it - Tran, Jesse, Mia, Vince - hell, Dom, I didn’t even know if you’d made it. I knew the cops didn’t have you but you were pretty banged up after the crash, I didn’t know if you were still alive until Letty made contact and she wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information, you know? So yeah, five years ago I felt like I’d fucked up everything. I Miami, I started to put some things back together.”
“With Rome’s help.” Shit, I sound like a jealous twelve year old. I can’t help it. I’ve never met the guy. But Brian’s made one hell of an impact on me, my life. The way he makes me feel is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s kind of overwhelming. And I’ve only known him for what? Six weeks collectively? Two months at most? This guy in Miami’s known him all his life - probably knows he smokes, undoubtedly knows he’s a crack shot with a pool cue.
“If it’s any consolation,” Brian says gently, and I glance his way to see the truth in his eyes and the naked expression on his face, “I never told him about Tom blowing me in the showers.” Finally, he’s given me something. I feel like fucking singing. “Dom....” He says it like he means to follow it with something deep and meaningful, but in the end he just shakes his head and turns to look out of the window. We drive the next hundred miles in silence.
We stop in a dusty town for lunch. There’s a roadside diner where we and eat quesadillas and drink cold beer. While Brian’s been fixing up the Charger and sourcing fake documents, Mia’s been busy on the Internet and she’s found a place to rent in the San Sebastian district of San Jose. For a moment I’m struck by what Mia, Vince and Leon are giving up for me. Okay, Mia’s my sister and I’ve known Leon and Vince since school. Still, they don’t owe me anything. They definitely don’t owe me this. But all Leon will say is that he could do with a change of scenery. Vince has always wanted to go to South America, he claims, and I know Mia’s missed me these last five years. Besides, they were careful when they hit the prison transport. Mia, Brian’s assured me, can go home, back to LA, whenever she wants. There’s no evidence to link her to the bust. Vince and Leon could maybe be identified by the security guards on the bus but he doubts it. Brian, on the other hand, knew one of them by name. Just his shitty luck holding.
Mia pays and on the short walk back to parking lot, Mia tells me to ride with her to the next motel stop. It isn’t a suggestion, so it’s with an apology to Brian that I do as she says. She puts us out in front and Brian tucks the Charger in behind so I can still see it in the Skyline’s mirrors.
This is an impressive car, built for racing. It’s Brian’s car, so I get nosey, opening up the glove compartment and rifling through what I find in there; driver’s licence, in his own name - Brian Earl O’Connor - half a melted Hershey’s bar in a faded orange wrapper, a couple of receipts for engine parts and a canister of NOS, a pair of sunglasses. Nothing that should be of interest. But it’s a peek into Brian’s life and I’ll take what I can get.
“You’ve got it bad, Dom,” Mia says, out of the blue. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe this is why I’m in riding with her. I tell her I’m just being nosey and she rolls her eyes. “If you say so.”
I know exactly what she’s talking about but I’m not going to make it easy for her. “What, Mia? What have I ‘got bad’?”
“He’s just as bad as you are, you know.” I assume she’s talking about Brian. “He’s been obsessed with that fucking car, with getting it back, fixing it up. He spent every waking moment on it and when he slept, he slept at the garage. We barely saw him from the moment he got back to LA. When we did see him, after the sentencing, all he talked about was the plan; how they’d move you, where to hit the bus, how to do it.”
It’s strange because I’d imagined he and Mia had been spending their nights fucking like bunny rabbits. I wasn’t sure what it meant that she’d barely seen him.
“Why did you come along, Mia? Why didn’t you stay in L.A.?”
“Because there’s nothing there for me anymore, Dom.” She puts the emphasis on my name. “At least this way I get to be with my brother.”
“And with Brian,” I remind her, still convinced the fire between them isn’t completely out. But she just laughs. So maybe it is.
“Why are men so totally inept when it comes to seeing what’s right in front of them?” Her tone softens. “Brian loves me, yes. But he loves you too, Dom. More.” I lean sideways to look in the rear view, see my guardian angel in the devil car behind us. I turn in my seat so I can see him out the back window of the Skyline. “He’s given up everything for you. Don’t you think that means something? Haven’t you ever thought that what he did just the first time went above and beyond friendship? Never mind this time around.”
Rubbing my hands over my face, I breathe out a sigh that’s dragged up from my soul. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I just don’t know what it means. And I don’t think he knows what it means either. If he doesn’t know what he wants, I can’t give it to him.”
“Dom, you really are dumb.” She taps her hands against the wheel. “Brian knows exactly what he wants. What he doesn’t know is if you’re prepared to give it to him.”
#
The sun’s set by the time we pull up in San Luis Potosi. The motel looks slightly less shitty than the last one we stayed at. Not that I’m complaining. By rights I should be bunking up in a six by eight prison cell. Climbing out of the confines of the Skyline and while I stretch, I watch Brian park the Charger and extract his long limbs from the car. He grins at me and I grin right back.
“I’m riding with him tomorrow,” I tell Mia quietly, and she nods like the long-suffering sister she is.
“Fine.” She opens the back and dumps our bags unceremoniously onto the ground while Brian goes to get our rooms. When he comes back and hands out the keys, Mia doesn’t snatch hers from him exactly, but he obviously isn’t feeling the warmth he did yesterday, and he looks at me like I’m to blame. Which I am. The question’s in his eyes but he doesn’t give it voice until we’re in the room, sitting on the twin beds, looking at one another.
“What did you two talk about?” he asks eventually, not angry, more amused.
“You and me.” As I sit there looking at him, it starts to dawn on me that I can have him. I just have to be as courageous as he’s been ever since I met him.
“There’s a ‘you and me’?” he’s making a joke out of it but I’m not willing to let him laugh this one off.
“Sure there’s a ‘you and me’. You know there is. There has been from the moment our eyes met in the store. What was it you said the night of the street race? ‘I almost had you’? You did have me. I couldn’t see passed you to the truth Vince was telling me. I wanted to believe every word you said. Last five years I’ve asked myself why. You asked me why I didn’t leave when you told me to this time. It was because I’d finally figured it out.”
Brian takes a deep breath. “I gave you the car... because I respect you. I care about you. Can we just leave it at that? Please?”
“No.” Shaking my head I rise to my feet and stand over him, forcing him to tip his head back to look at up me. “How much do you care? How far would you go for me? How far would you follow?”
For a long time he looks at me, saying nothing. But this time I don’t back down, I’m not letting him run from this, not again. Finally he speaks and it’s as if the words are being pulled out of him, so quiet I have to lean forward just to hear him. “More than anything. All the way. And to the ends of the earth.” He looks like it cost him his soul to say it. “Can we please drop it now?”
Mia was right. We’re both as bad - as dumb - as each other. “No.” I sit down next to him. Easier to say this if I’m not facing him or pretendin’ I’m trying to intimidate him, which is pointless anyway. “Are you even listening? You had me, Brian, from the very start. You don’t get it. I’ve known Vince and Leon... Jesse and Letty... all my life. I’ve never invited anyone new in to the family. Never. They didn’t get why suddenly I didn’t want you outta my sight. You were everywhere and while I think Letty got it and I know now Mia got it, Vince and Leon definitely didn’t.”
He looks down at his hands, at anything but me. “Mia told me, that first night, you usually didn’t like anyone. But you liked me.” I smile, imagining Mia saying that. But he looks sad. “I lied to her.”
It’s not something I want to talk about now. “You lied to us all.” I wave it off but he’s shaking his head.
“No. Well, yeah, but... that’s not what I’m talking about. I told her you were incidental, that being with you was just a bonus. I lied.”
That really shouldn’t make me feel what I’m feeling right now. I should be angry, furious, but I’m not. “I kept you around, kept you close, because you weren’t Vince and you weren’t Leon and I couldn’t understand what you were, couldn’t even begin to fathom what I was feeling, what I was even doing. I left you in L.A. because everything had gone to shit, because you gave me an out and I took it. I spent five years wondering where you’d gone, what you were doing. At the border, I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.”
“You said you’d rather die than go back.”
I love that he’s held onto that like some kind of mantra he’s living his life by. How could I not love this guy?
“I’d rather die than lose you again.” If I’d known way back that it was the way to shut him up, I’d have said it five years ago. Although to be fair I didn’t know it was in me to say it back then. Now I know it’s the absolute truth. He’s still not quite looking at me, and the expression on his face is as close to fear as I’ve seen him come. I know that feeling. One thing to get a blow job from a guy at school, or a mutual hand job with a friend, neither mean anything. But this is different, this is strong. “You gave me the car because you fell in love.”
He blinks like he’s crying but when he looks at me his eyes are dry and clear, vivid. “If we get into this, it’s for the long-haul. I’ve given up everything but even that wasn’t much. I won’t ever ask you for anything, especially not this.”
I’ve never been hesitant about anything, ever. But as I reach to put my hand on his shoulder I feel like I’m walking blind through a minefield. “But you want it.” It’s not a question.
He nods once. “Yeah. I just can’t believe you do.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “We seriously don’t know each other, Brian.” I run my thumb along the line of his ear. “It’s time we changed that.” My hand moves to curl around his neck and I am so relieved when he turns into my palm, head dropping to kiss the pulse point in my wrist almost reverently and I’m so not having that. Lifting my other hand to his other shoulder, I push.
Slipping the buttons of his shirt isn’t easy, he’s a mass of pent up energy and I’m tryin’ to harness it. Holding him down means I lose the use of one hand and I want to touch. He’s already got my shirt undone and my jeans open. His hands are obscene, are everywhere. But in counterpoint, he kisses like he drives; wild but controlled and with total focus.
I get my mouth on his throat and he tastes of cheap soap, sweat and motor oil. Like he spent so long working on my car it got under his skin. Spreading his shirt I kiss around the fading bruises, the raw scar that’s taking longer to mend than the Charger took.
I get my hand between us and unzip, lifting my head to look down at him. When my fingers touch his dick he surges up, lips parted, getting his tongue in my mouth. I take that as encouragement, close my hand around him. He shifts under me, gets one leg hooked over mine, long fingers finally wrapping around an erection so sensitive it feels like I’ve had it for five years.
It’s a bloody long time. I come painfully hard the second he touches me, whole body shaking with the power of it, so intense I don’t notice Brian’s orgasm until it’s drying on my hand and stomach. “Fuck.” I don’t know which one of us says it but I can’t keep from laughing as I roll off him, onto the bed beside him, leaving my sticky hand lying in the crease of his thigh.
“We’ll get better with practice,” he assures me.
“Hey! I thought that was pretty damn good.”
He turns his head, those incredible eyes looking straight through me, through the bullshit, to the good inside me. I love him, so much it terrifies me. “Best I’ve ever had,” he says, and he’s deadly serious, like he’s saying a hell of a lot more.
A sudden banging on the door makes us both jump. I’ve forgotten the rest of the world exists, forgotten Vince and Leon and Mia are waiting for us, getting hungrier by the minute. Brian starts laughing. “Shit.” It’s a shared sentiment. I know the moment he’s gonna make a break for the bathroom, and feeling playful I tackle him halfway, taking him down easily because he’s not expecting it, bolting over him, slamming the door behind me, making the walls of the motel room shake.
“Bastard!” he yells good-naturedly, and I feel so fucking happy there’s no way the others aren’t going to work out that something’s happened, something’s changed.
He’s waiting outside the door when I open it, his hand plasters itself around the back of my head and he pulls me into an open, wet kiss. I get him in my arms, hold him so tight it’s gotta hurt but he doesn’t even flinch, just gets his other arm around me and brings us impossibly closer.
“Dom!” Vince. Shit. I’m sorely tempted to shout at him to get lost, but chances are that would lead to him breaking the door down in case I’m finally giving Brian a beating and he’s missing out on the chance to get a sneaky boot in. Not that he hates Brian. Not now. Just because. If he catches us like this, he might try to beat the shit out of us both.
Brian backs off, gives me a look like this could have definitely gone somewhere interesting if it hadn’t been for Vince, and slips past me into the bathroom with a grin.
My dick’s giving me pointed instructions to check out what else is on offer, but Vince yells for me again and I give it up, not bothering to check if my jeans are containing the situation when I throw open the door and yell, “What?” in his face.
#
Author: elfin
Fandom: The Fast & The Furious (Series)
Pairing: Dom / Brian
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 16.769 over two posts, both to be posted tonight - complete story can be found at www.sundive.co.uk
Notes: Firstly - apologies to anyone who lives in Central America or is well travelled around there. I have only the internet to guide me so I apologise if descriptions of towns and cities are off. Second - this fic is AU only in that a) Leon and Vince were with Dom and Letty in the Dominican Republic and b) it's Leon and Vince who are driving the third car when Brian busts Dom off the prison bus
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me
“Maybe you’re not the good guy pretending to be the bad guy. Maybe you’re the bad guy pretending to be the good guy. You ever think about that?”
“Every day.”
- Mia & Brian, Fast and Furious
The Way Home
by elfin
I'd know that engine anywhere.
And while seeing Brian should be a surprise, it just isn't. The Charger sure is, Mia is, Vince and Leon being anywhere near him. Three great big fucking shocks. But then so is going from imprisonment to freedom, from having no future to having the world at my feet, in the time it takes me to drive a quarter mile. I should yell at Brian for dragging Mia into this but she's a big girl now, but I’m too happy, too stunned, and as much as I don’t want to admit it if she wanted in no one could have stopped her. Not me. Certainly not him.
They leave all the other prisoners still chained inside the bus, leave the guards restrained but unhurt. It's a neat job, no one gets more than a bruised cheek and a black eye; Brian's planning no doubt.
The guy never stops flooring me; from that morning five years ago, leaping from a moving car to a moving truck to rescue Vince, blowing his cover right in front of me to save the guy’s life, later handing me the keys to the car and letting me escape to save mine. Five years on there’s the thing with Braga - I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I think he would have let me shoot the guy in that church and not batted a pretty eyelid - and now this crazy ass stunt. He threw his career to the wind for me once and somehow salvaged it. Now he’s doing it again and this time I doubt there’s going to be any second - third - chances. Like last time, he tried to make me run this time too, and after I refused to leave he gave a testimonial in court that should have earned me sainthood, never mind kept me out of Lompoc. But the judge played hardass, gave me twenty-five to life, and now Brian's showing the world what he thinks of that. How the hell can I not feel anything for the guy? How the hell can my car be here like this, in one piece?
I seriously thought my life was over, for the last few weeks all I’ve known for certain is that I’m going to jail, with chances of ever getting out being slim to nil. But instead of being chained to some murdering bastard I’m staring at the open road as Brian puts a lot of mileage between us and the crime scene. It’s taking me a while to catch up.
There’s the blast of a horn and a blur of black as Leon and Vince take the lead in a plain black Honda, leaving us in the middle, Mia bringing up the rear in a blue and silver Skyline I haven't seen before. From what I can see in the mirror’s it’s got enough mods to make insurance a nightmare, looks like it might glow in the dark too, but it’s not flashy enough on the outside to draw any unnecessary attention. I wonder where it’s come from. Then I turn and stare at Brian as he drives the Charger with all the confidence in the world, like he belongs behind the wheel of my car.
“You’re the last person in the world I expected to show up,” I tell him, just to have something to say. He’s happy, beaming; looks like a kid at Christmas, not an ex-cop on the run.
“Am not,” he throws back and now I can’t wipe the smile off my own face.
Nothing phases him. Despite everything we've been through the only time I've seen fear in his eyes was out there by the side of the road that morning, with Vince's blood all over us, making the call that saved Vince's life and blowing his cover to do it. I could have killed him with my bare hands at that moment and he knew it. But the fear I saw wasn't of me, wasn't even for me. It was for Vince, a guy who hated him, who'd beat the shit out of him as soon as look at him; it was fear of what would happen to Vince if Brian died right there and then with my hands around his throat. I didn't hurt him, not then, and by the time I got my hands on a shotgun and he was standing in front of me, I couldn't hurt him. God help me, the way I felt about him, I couldn’t even threaten him.
He drives me crazy, because no one has ever given so much for me and I don’t get why he, of all people, does. No one else has ever thrown away their life just to keep me out of jail. And why? Because one night I told him I'd never go back, that I'd die first. And man, did he take that to heart.
I look over at him, meaning to thank him, but before I can get a word out, he says, "Strip," and it takes me a moment to process. "There's a change of clothes in the back." He's smiling, joy radiating from him. "Orange isn't your colour, man."
Message received. We’re on an open road and I’m sticking out like a sore thumb. But a guy my size stripping in the front of a muscle car built for racing isn't easy. He ducks my elbow a couple of times, and I swear I can hear him fighting the urge to laugh. I'm fighting the urge to elbow him in the balls even though I'm not sure I can make it look accidental.
A white shirt and faded blue jeans are in the back, neatly folded. I reach over and grab them once I'm down to my briefs, throwing the orange jumpsuit at Brian who winds down the window and lets it fly in the slipstream. I guess the cops don't need the extra clue that we're heading south, still it’s probably not the wisest of ideas but Brian's grinning like a loon and it makes me feel fearless, just like him. I experience a sudden need to snatch back some balance here. So I wait until I've somehow got into my jeans and let my eyes settle on him, wait until he glances over at me, and say,
"You look so hot drivin' this car."
It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and as his grin fades I turn away, shrug on the shirt and gaze out of the window as I button up, ignoring the question that’s written all over his face and his slightly high-pitched, “What?”
I leave it for five miles and he just drives. He’s quiet, and that’s so unlike him it throws me so in the end I have to make conversation.
“How long have we got?”
He looks at me. “Until they realise something’s wrong. All the buses are low-jacked, so normally they’d already know. But we got some help hacking the signal, so now we’ve got until the guards free themselves or until they realise the vehicle they think they’re tracking hasn’t arrived in Lompoc when their GPS says it has.”
He’s got a real talent for this stuff. “So where’re we goin’?”
“San Jose, Costa Rica. For now. Further, maybe, later.” That’s cool. I stopped in Costa Rica before, on my way to Panama. I like the place, like the city. Hell, anywhere will do. He holds out his hands, letting the wheel go for just a second. He’s still smiling, like it’s plastered permanently to his face. “However far we need to go to keep you out of Lompoc.”
He’s gone pretty damn far already. It’s blown my mind - this seemingly unconditional devotion - I don’t know what to do with it. I definitely don’t understand it. I wonder if there’s anything he won’t do for me. It’s heavy stuff I’m not ready to deal with, we’ve got a long drive and we definitely don’t need any more tension between us. Time to change the subject. So I lean across to glance in the rear view and I ask who the Skyline belongs to. I don’t need a verbal answer; it’s there in his eyes when he glances in the mirror.
I nod. “Nice.”
“I practically built it from scratch, raced it in Miami. I’ve taken some of the more... ostentatious mods off, but it’s a good car. It’ll do us proud, you know, if we need spare cash.”
I nod, catching his meaning. He didn’t say much about Miami in the short time we had back in L.A. I know it’s where the Feds finally caught up with him after chasing him across the entire country. I know it’s where he finally joined up again - another short-lived relationship. So I know about the ‘what’ and I know about the ‘why’. But all I know about the ‘how’ is something about drugs and money and a guy - Roman Pearce. I don’t know who he is and I don’t want to know. Brian hasn’t said much - just that he’s an old friend and they have history. I remember him telling us over dinner. I remember saying something like, ‘you and I have history too’. I remember Mia’s expression. Mom used to look at me like that when I was acting particularly childish.
I definitely don’t want to ask him about that now. Like I said, there’s enough tension in this car as it is. And I can tease him about the colour of the Skyline later. There’s all this stuff between us and the deepest conversation we’ve had since he threw his life away for me the first time around was about the benefits of electronic fuel injection or maybe it wasn’t. Still, this doesn’t seem to be the time for a meaningful chat. I could ask him if he won in Miami, but it’s pointless. Of course he won, every single time. Bet the Florida scene didn’t know what hit it. So for the next hundred miles or so, neither of us talks. It’s not awkward, it’s comfortable. It feels right.
Several miles before the Mexican border at Heroica Nogales, Brian leans over into the back with one hand on the wheel and his big toe still on the gas and pulls a large envelope from behind my seat.
“I’d have done that,” I point out as he drops the envelope in my lap. He just smiles. Show off. I open it up and let the contents fall into my lap. Currency, permits, passports, insurance, drivers’ licences; all in the names of Brian Connolly and Dominic Santos.
“Mia, Leon and Vince have theirs, along with vehicle permits and insurance for the cars. Borders shouldn’t be a problem, but there’s enough cash, just in case.”
It’s a minute or two before I can speak. “You’re a natural at working the other side of the law, Brian.”
He laughs. “When you’re a cop you mix with the crème of society.”
At the border crossing we blend in with the tourists, put a few cars between our own and get lucky, get across. No problem.
Ten miles into Mexico, Vince and Leon pull into a gas station and Brian follows, Mia close behind us. It's the first chance I've had to thank them. I hug Mia. Leon and Vince hug me. Vince mutters that maybe the narc cop isn't so bad after all. Nice of him to admit it after Brian not only saved his life but kept him, kept all of us, out of jail. Still I know how much it cost him to say it - there's more to his wariness of Brian than just the obvious - and I nod my agreement but add, "I don't think he's a cop anymore."
We refuel then hit the store for water and snacks. Mia corners me as I'm lifting a six pack of Corona from the fridge and asks me seriously if I want to ride with her. I thought women were supposed to be more attuned to these things, whatever these things are. All I say is, "Nah, we're good," and she looks at me in a way that makes me wonder if she's given Brian the same 'break his heart, I'll break your neck' speech that I did. The thought makes me cringe.
It’s not like I’m not about to ask the guy out on a date, although I can see us sitting in some bar in San Jose sharing tapas, drinking cold beer, talking about something other than car engines. Don't know what he'd think about that, don't know how he feels about me, don't know what he wants. Don’t know what I’m willing to offer. He's never asked anything of me, given me everything and never asked for anything in return. Given everything he's done, it’s a fair bet he feels something but whether it's kinship, lust or anything in between, I have no idea. It isn't news that Brian's capable of taking me for a ride, but I think - I know - it's been real for the most part.
And this isn't getting me anywhere.
I dump the beer on the counter and Leon dumps a pile of unhealthy crap on top, looking pleased with himself. Mia adds in the water and Brian pays for everything, making me wonder if they hit an armoured truck on their way to get me. I try to let it go, but once we get on the road again I can't help myself. I wouldn't be surprised if Brian told me to butt out of his business, but instead he tells me that he and his friend stole a ton of cash from the bust in Miami.
"Rome bought a garage," he says, "I stuck it in the bank for a rainy day." Apparently a rainy day in Brian’s life is one where he needs to bust a friend off a prison transport.
“Feds didn’t miss it?”
“Feds never knew how much we were transporting.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Were you ever actually a cop, Brian?” I get serious, reach over, tap his chest with my knuckles as he drives, “in here?”
He glances down at my hand, over at me, then back at the road. And he shrugs. “Maybe once.” Then his face lights up and he looks back at me. “No room anymore.”
That’s a line I’m not going near. It’s like walking through a minefield, talking to him, which is why we spent the last hundred miles in silence and why we’ll be spending the next hundred miles the same way if I don’t give him something. It’s not that he hasn’t earned it, that he doesn’t deserve it or that I don’t have it to give. It’s just that if I start, I don’t know how I’ll stop.
“Thanks.” It’s not much. It’s nothing. I said it when I first saw him, first saw the car - my car, my Dad’s car - rescued and restored in a matter of weeks; the time it took the Feds to process and prosecute my ass. He must have fuckin’ lived and breathed engine parts and body work because I saw it hit that wall in the tunnel. I saw the explosion in my rear view. There can’t have been that much left of her. I realise he’s been planning this long before I was sentenced - contingency - just in case things went the way they did. I owe him my life and my freedom. Whatever debts he racked up first time around have been paid in full.
He shrugs it off like it’s nothing, says, “you’re welcome,” and I know I am. Like it’s the least he can do. But it isn’t nothing and sitting here, watching the road disappear beneath the car, I finally need him to acknowledge that.
“Why are you doing all this?" I want to know but he shakes his head. "Brian... please.”
I almost regret it when his face clouds over. His smile’s like the sun; too long in his company and I start to feel like I need it just to breathe. It’s what got me hooked in the first place. When we met up again in L.A. I thought he’d be a different guy to the Brian I knew and he is, in a way, but it’s just skin deep. Underneath he’s the same. He looks harder but his heart is the same. A lot’s happened to both of us over the last five years, I’ve no idea what’s been going on with him, not really, but I’ll get it out of him sooner or later - I’ve got time now.
“Brian?”
“Letty.” He blurts it out and it’s nothing I didn’t expect even though it's not the answer I'm looking for. “I got her killed. The woman you love.” His voice starts to break and just for a split-second he sounds frightened, the way he did in the desert, making the call to save a life when for all he knew it was gonna cost him his own.
Reaching across I squeeze his shoulder. “Not your fault, Brian. Once she got it in her mind to do something, she’d have done it no matter what. If not you, some other Fed, some other cop. She did it for me. And I got the guy who killed her. Mourn her, but don’t beat yourself up over it.”
I’ve beaten myself up over it - beaten him up over it too. I was so angry, so fucking angry when I found out about him running Letty. And it had been a long time coming; we were due a fight, something physical to break the tension. I’m not angry now, but I am pissed off. Because even now he’s still lyin’ to me and I want to know why. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I already know why, deep down.
When I let my hand drop he’s smiling again, only slightly but it won’t take long to get the rest of the way so I relax, dig into a bag of Cheetos and just let him drive, offering them to him. He reaches in, takes a handful and stuffs them into his mouth.
Sitting watching him munching his way through a mouthful of cheesy snacks probably isn’t the best time for an epiphany, and it’s not really an epiphany. I remember back when he used to just come to the store for tuna sandwiches every lunchtime, I noticed him. Hard not to. Kept catching myself on his eyes; two-tone blue, shining like fuckin’ sapphires. Getting to know him, he kinda lost that shine. But it didn’t stop me wanting him around, at the garage, at the house. I wanted him showing up after he finished his shift at Harry’s. Maybe he’d say he was just playing a part, but I know when someone’s playing me and he just wasn’t, not all the time. It was his first undercover gig, he went in heart and soul. I don’t know if he got out with either intact.
This time around, he was the one in control. When I first laid eyes on him again after five years, I thought I didn’t know him. But as angry as I wanted to be with him, as cool as I played it, one of those looks, one of those smiles and it all crumbled away; I was smilin’ right back at him before I knew what I was doing. When it all went to shit, I knew he’d match my play, knew he had my back. It felt good to be able to trust him, to know without a shadow of a doubt that I could trust him. Even though he was working for the Feds. He protected me at every turn. And in the garage, the night before we went for Braga, when he told me he was coming with me, something between us shifted. He wasn’t the buster any longer; he wasn’t looking for my approval or my respect. He was my friend, was becoming my partner. Then he went after Mia when she got back from the store, and the sudden spike of jealousy was a surprise and a shock when I guess it shouldn’t have been.
“Can’t believe you’re still lying to me, Brian,” I tell him gently and he shoots a look at me before thrusting his hand back into the bag of Cheetos to fill his mouth. “You threw your life away five years ago for me. You’re throwing it away again now. Why?”
He doesn’t speak again until he’s finished crunching. Then he asks, “Why does it matter, Dom?”
It’s an easy answer. I thought about it while I was waiting for the conviction hearing because it was easier to think about that than about where I was headed. “Because no one’s ever shown me the kind of loyalty you do. Not Vince, not Leon. And I don’t know what to do with that, not when there isn’t a bad guy to be chasing.” Brian smiles but doesn’t speak. “I’ll get it out of you eventually,” I promise, lightening the mood.
He glances at me. “We’re driving to Costa Rica; a week on the road, five nights in shitty motel rooms. Should give you plenty of time to try.”
I give it up for the time being. Like he says, there’s time. Instead, I ask Brian how the hell he rescued my Dad’s Charger from the smoking ruins I left it in and he spends the next two hundred miles telling me, every detail, talking until we pull into the dusty parking lot of a motel just outside Chihuahua.
Brian gets three rooms - two twins and a double - handing Mia the key to the double. I assume he’s sharing with her until he grabs two holdalls from the back of the Skyline and hands one to me, leading the way into one of the twin rooms. Mia doesn’t seem to bat an eyelid, so she obviously wasn’t expecting them to share. I’ve no idea what’s happened because before we left for Mexico and for Braga they fucked on the kitchen table while I tuned the Charger’s new engine. Part of me wants to ask her what’s going on, another part is telling me to leave it alone. So I leave it alone, for now.
The pathetic, luke-warm shower feels like bliss and when I get out, the room’s door is open and Brian’s outside, leaning against the wall, a lit cigarette hanging between his fingers. I didn’t even know he smoked.
There’s a bar down the road and we walk the short distance to sink a few. It’s not busy and there’s no competition as Brian racks up the balls on the pool table. He beats Leon while I chat to Vince and Mia, then beats Vince while Leon chats Mia up. I take the cue from Vince as soon as he’s defeated. Might as well play if I’m going to sit and watch Brian's ass anyway. At least this way I have an excuse. I remember walking into Braga’s club, seeing him bent over the pool table to take his shot, his head turning, eyes meeting mine. At that moment five years of vague late-night fantasies, blurry lunchtime day-dreams and casual early morning imaginings solidified into one inevitable fact. One I only finally accepted on the road this afternoon.
Brian plays like a pro. He wiped Leon out in nine minutes, Vince in six. I have ideas of making my game last, but he keeps looking up at me as he lines up his shots, and there's heat in his eyes when he catches me looking right back at him each and every time. I don't know what he wants, but I'm starting to get an inkling of what he's feelin'.
He clears the table in four minutes. I take three shots and barely notice I’m supposed to be playing pool. What I do notice is that when he bends over the table, my blood tends to run south. I want him so badly during the game it's starting to hurt. I want to be inside him, buried in him, my body flush to his, surrounded by the heat of him, breathing him in. I’ve been with exactly two guys outside of Lompoc; Chris, a speed crazy kid I knew when I was a horny teenager looking for sex anywhere I could get it, and Han, a guy from way back, someone I hooked up with again after running from L.A. With both of them it was easy. We knew what we wanted and we took it. I have no idea, despite everything he’s done for me and my team, what Brian wants from me. The way he looks at me is all challenge and heat and longing. I might be looking at him the same way. But he’s never made the slightest move. Maybe because he thinks I’ll punch his lights out if he does.
It’s an almost overwhelming temptation to take a couple of steps forward, put one foot between his legs, my hands on his hips, just hook my thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and pull him back towards me. I doubt being in public would stop him from taking something he wants if he knows it’s available, so I can imagine his mouth finding mine - open and wet - eager hands reaching for me.
“Dom!”
Brian’s waving another Corona under my nose as Mia’s racking up the balls on the table. I grab it from him like it’s his fault I didn’t hear the first however many times he said my name. But he just smiles and reaches for his cue.
Mia beats him in three minutes dead. He gets on the table once. My sister the hustler. He’s a gracious loser, buying another round before we head back to the motel. I think maybe he’ll peel off with Mia but although they do hug goodnight, he follows me into the room where we left our bags, closes and locks the door behind us. He offers me the bathroom and I take him up on it before climbing fully clothed onto the bed. I listen to Brian take a shower and let my imagination run wild until the water stops. I’ve turned the light off, but if he suspects anything’s wrong when he steps out of the bathroom, butt naked, towelling his hair dry, he doesn’t show it. I can’t help but stare at him in the neon-lit gloom as he digs out a pair of clean shorts from his bag and pulls them on, dropping the towel to the floor as he makes himself comfortable on the second bed. If he’s a messy shit normally, I don’t have a clue. I didn’t know he smoked, didn’t know he was great at pool. I don’t know anything about the guy.
Turning to look at him, watching his silhouette scratching its chest, it’s a minute before I can find my voice.
“Brian?”
“Yeah?”
“Who are you?”
He laughs softly at the ceiling. “I’m the man keeping your ass out of jail, Toretto.” He says it almost like he’s kidding around when it’s the God honest truth.
“Yeah, and I don’t get why.” I can hear him sighing. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“You know I love cars. You know I can drive. You know you can trust me.” He says the last part really quietly.
“I know I can.”
“What else do you need?”
My turn to sigh in frustration. "Answers, bro!"
"Start with the easy questions then."
“Okay... where did you grow up?”
He laughs again but plays the game. “Barstow.”
Barstow?! How the hell does a guy like Brian grow up in Barstow? I totally bought the Arizona story. “Brothers? Sisters?”
“Nope. Just me.”
I kinda feel sorry for him. “First love?”
There’s a smile in his voice when he says, “A black 1969 Chevy Impala. Friend of my Dad’s owned it - kept it in beautiful condition, not a scratch. The engine made this incredible guttural sound. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.” He’s teasing me, I can hear it but I don’t make anything of it. He’s got good taste.
“First time?”
There’s a long pause, and I’m not sure he’s going to answer. But maybe he’s just been remembering, because he’s not hesitating when he replies, “First kiss was Joanne Parker, I was nine, she was twelve. Behind the bins at school.” Charming. “First fuck... Sara Torres, in her parents’ bed while they were at a funeral. First blow job... Tom Garcia, in the showers after football practice."
Strange, but I was kinda expecting that last one. Even if it wasn’t true I thought he’d throw in a curve ball just to wind me up. No point in not responding. “You let a guy blow you?”
I can see him shrug, lifting his shoulders off the bed. “He’d wanted me all year. He was good at it too.” He turns his head towards me and I swear I can see his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You said it, Dom - a guy can appreciate a fine body no matter what the make.”
I start to wonder how he knew about that, then stop. It was something I said to Gisele in the garage at Braga’s club and Brian was all over the place that night, acting so much like a cop I’m stunned they didn’t see right through him. But then again, I didn’t. The beer is settling heavy on top of stress and exhaustion and my eyes start to close of their own accord. “Why did you let me go, Brian?” I try again, one final time today.
He replies, “I couldn’t let them lock you up. I won’t let them. I’ll die before I’ll let you go back.”
Fuck.
I want to respond but I don’t know what to say and I’m too exhausted to think of anything. It’s the last thing I remember before waking up alone at sunrise. It’s not something I’m ever going to forget.
#
For a moment, I panic. But it only takes a glance out of the window to see the cars still parked where we left them. I take a shower and change clothes before Brian gets back with coffee. We hit the road just after seven, Leon and Vince again asking if I’m okay travelling with Brian. I don’t even bother answering, just take the keys Brian’s silently offering, and climb into the driver’s seat of the Charger. He walks around the front of the car, looking a little unsure, so I say his name just once and he doesn’t need a second invite, just opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. I notice my sister’s expression as he does and really hope that didn’t sound like me calling him like he’s some fucking dog.
I didn’t ask about him and Mia last night, but then I figure he might be more comfortable telling me if both my hands are on the wheel and half my attention is on the road. So once we’re on our way, I ask.
He drops his head back against the car seat and I’m thinking he isn’t going to answer like he hasn’t answered the other big questions. But eventually he spills.
“We talked about it, about what we’re doing, where we were going. And we decided to do it as friends, not lovers.”
I don’t get it. “If you love her....”
“I do love her, Dom.” He says it like he needs to convince me. I was convinced five years ago. Then he says something which completely blows my mind. “I love you both.”
I know. I mean, I know he loves Mia. And the devotion, the loyalty he’s showing me, has to be based on some deep feelings of some kind. I shouldn’t ask but I can’t keep my mouth shut. “How, Brian?”
Brian turns and he looks at me, genuinely confused. “How...?”
I scraped together the courage to ask once, I can’t do it again, like I can’t ask what he wants from me. Shaking my head, I give the road and the car my full attention. The Charger feels fantastic, sounds perfect: deep like thunder. I lose myself in it for a while until Brian turns toward me and starts asking questions of his own.
“Dom... you knew the Feds wouldn’t let you walk, so why didn’t you run? Why did you stay just to let them take you in?”
I bite back my first answer: because I couldn’t leave him, couldn’t walk away again, not knowing if it was going to be another five years until I next saw him or if I’d ever see him. I still don’t know whether he quit the FBI or whether they kicked his ass outta there, but I knew he’d be in trouble. Okay, so we delivered Braga alive, but we left a trail of destruction in our wake. I don’t think they’d have patted him on the back and sent him home with a full paycheck and a ‘thank you’.
“Couldn’t let you take the rap for everything.” It’s a casual throw-away comment he isn’t buying but he is smiling, rolling his eyes when I glance across at him.
“Right. So instead we have to bust you off a prison bus and I lose my job again!” There’s absolutely no bitterness to back up his words, he’s teasing.
“Were you still a Fed when you busted me off the bus?”
He shakes his head. “Not since the day they sent you down. I left my badge and gun on my desk on my way out.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“I got it when you asked me if I left cookies out for Santa.” There’s humour lacing what otherwise is self-disgust over falling for their bullshit, believing in it because he likes to trust people. “I’d made my mind up when I went with you to Mexico. Then you started doing the right thing and fucked everything up....” He’s grinning again.
“Sorry, man.”
“Should think so.” Another shrug of those narrow shoulders and long arms. He’s all limbs, like a living, breathing rag doll in the seat. “Hell, we’d still be in the same situation if we’d shot Braga in Mexico.” Situation not mess. We not you. “Only I wouldn’t have had to spend a hundred grand rebuilding your car.” A hundred grand?!
“Fuck, Brian, how much did you and your friend steal down in Miami?”
“Five hundred grand between us.” I’m stunned at how much he’s given me and I’m not just talkin’ about the money he’s sunk into my car. Although, I guess now it’s our car.
He falls quiet and now I really need to know so I ask, “Who was he, Bri?” Shortening his name, it’s proprietary, possessive. I do it on purpose. “Your friend in Miami.”
Of all the possible reactions, I didn’t expect him to laugh. It’s not in a cruel way, but more like he’s known all along that the question’s been coming, that I’ve been waiting to ask. “Man, that’s really clawing at you, isn’t it? I remember what you said about history, when I mentioned him that night over dinner.” He’s not laughing any more but he’s beaming, like this has really tickled him. I’m embarrassed as hell but I’ve asked now, and I want an answer. “Rome and I grew up together. Then he was an idiot, got himself arrested. Even though there was nothin’ I could have done about it he got it into his head that I hadn’t wanted to. When the Feds caught up with me in Miami I needed a driver to back me up. They said they’d clear his record. It was something I could do for him, finally. I’d fucked up my life but at least I could fix his.”
It was a lot to take in. “Is that how you feel? That doing what you did for me... fucked up your life?”
He glances at me, and there’s a serious look in his eyes I haven’t seen before. “Not what I did for you. That’s about the only thing I did right. The rest of it - Tran, Jesse, Mia, Vince - hell, Dom, I didn’t even know if you’d made it. I knew the cops didn’t have you but you were pretty banged up after the crash, I didn’t know if you were still alive until Letty made contact and she wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information, you know? So yeah, five years ago I felt like I’d fucked up everything. I Miami, I started to put some things back together.”
“With Rome’s help.” Shit, I sound like a jealous twelve year old. I can’t help it. I’ve never met the guy. But Brian’s made one hell of an impact on me, my life. The way he makes me feel is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s kind of overwhelming. And I’ve only known him for what? Six weeks collectively? Two months at most? This guy in Miami’s known him all his life - probably knows he smokes, undoubtedly knows he’s a crack shot with a pool cue.
“If it’s any consolation,” Brian says gently, and I glance his way to see the truth in his eyes and the naked expression on his face, “I never told him about Tom blowing me in the showers.” Finally, he’s given me something. I feel like fucking singing. “Dom....” He says it like he means to follow it with something deep and meaningful, but in the end he just shakes his head and turns to look out of the window. We drive the next hundred miles in silence.
We stop in a dusty town for lunch. There’s a roadside diner where we and eat quesadillas and drink cold beer. While Brian’s been fixing up the Charger and sourcing fake documents, Mia’s been busy on the Internet and she’s found a place to rent in the San Sebastian district of San Jose. For a moment I’m struck by what Mia, Vince and Leon are giving up for me. Okay, Mia’s my sister and I’ve known Leon and Vince since school. Still, they don’t owe me anything. They definitely don’t owe me this. But all Leon will say is that he could do with a change of scenery. Vince has always wanted to go to South America, he claims, and I know Mia’s missed me these last five years. Besides, they were careful when they hit the prison transport. Mia, Brian’s assured me, can go home, back to LA, whenever she wants. There’s no evidence to link her to the bust. Vince and Leon could maybe be identified by the security guards on the bus but he doubts it. Brian, on the other hand, knew one of them by name. Just his shitty luck holding.
Mia pays and on the short walk back to parking lot, Mia tells me to ride with her to the next motel stop. It isn’t a suggestion, so it’s with an apology to Brian that I do as she says. She puts us out in front and Brian tucks the Charger in behind so I can still see it in the Skyline’s mirrors.
This is an impressive car, built for racing. It’s Brian’s car, so I get nosey, opening up the glove compartment and rifling through what I find in there; driver’s licence, in his own name - Brian Earl O’Connor - half a melted Hershey’s bar in a faded orange wrapper, a couple of receipts for engine parts and a canister of NOS, a pair of sunglasses. Nothing that should be of interest. But it’s a peek into Brian’s life and I’ll take what I can get.
“You’ve got it bad, Dom,” Mia says, out of the blue. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe this is why I’m in riding with her. I tell her I’m just being nosey and she rolls her eyes. “If you say so.”
I know exactly what she’s talking about but I’m not going to make it easy for her. “What, Mia? What have I ‘got bad’?”
“He’s just as bad as you are, you know.” I assume she’s talking about Brian. “He’s been obsessed with that fucking car, with getting it back, fixing it up. He spent every waking moment on it and when he slept, he slept at the garage. We barely saw him from the moment he got back to LA. When we did see him, after the sentencing, all he talked about was the plan; how they’d move you, where to hit the bus, how to do it.”
It’s strange because I’d imagined he and Mia had been spending their nights fucking like bunny rabbits. I wasn’t sure what it meant that she’d barely seen him.
“Why did you come along, Mia? Why didn’t you stay in L.A.?”
“Because there’s nothing there for me anymore, Dom.” She puts the emphasis on my name. “At least this way I get to be with my brother.”
“And with Brian,” I remind her, still convinced the fire between them isn’t completely out. But she just laughs. So maybe it is.
“Why are men so totally inept when it comes to seeing what’s right in front of them?” Her tone softens. “Brian loves me, yes. But he loves you too, Dom. More.” I lean sideways to look in the rear view, see my guardian angel in the devil car behind us. I turn in my seat so I can see him out the back window of the Skyline. “He’s given up everything for you. Don’t you think that means something? Haven’t you ever thought that what he did just the first time went above and beyond friendship? Never mind this time around.”
Rubbing my hands over my face, I breathe out a sigh that’s dragged up from my soul. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I just don’t know what it means. And I don’t think he knows what it means either. If he doesn’t know what he wants, I can’t give it to him.”
“Dom, you really are dumb.” She taps her hands against the wheel. “Brian knows exactly what he wants. What he doesn’t know is if you’re prepared to give it to him.”
#
The sun’s set by the time we pull up in San Luis Potosi. The motel looks slightly less shitty than the last one we stayed at. Not that I’m complaining. By rights I should be bunking up in a six by eight prison cell. Climbing out of the confines of the Skyline and while I stretch, I watch Brian park the Charger and extract his long limbs from the car. He grins at me and I grin right back.
“I’m riding with him tomorrow,” I tell Mia quietly, and she nods like the long-suffering sister she is.
“Fine.” She opens the back and dumps our bags unceremoniously onto the ground while Brian goes to get our rooms. When he comes back and hands out the keys, Mia doesn’t snatch hers from him exactly, but he obviously isn’t feeling the warmth he did yesterday, and he looks at me like I’m to blame. Which I am. The question’s in his eyes but he doesn’t give it voice until we’re in the room, sitting on the twin beds, looking at one another.
“What did you two talk about?” he asks eventually, not angry, more amused.
“You and me.” As I sit there looking at him, it starts to dawn on me that I can have him. I just have to be as courageous as he’s been ever since I met him.
“There’s a ‘you and me’?” he’s making a joke out of it but I’m not willing to let him laugh this one off.
“Sure there’s a ‘you and me’. You know there is. There has been from the moment our eyes met in the store. What was it you said the night of the street race? ‘I almost had you’? You did have me. I couldn’t see passed you to the truth Vince was telling me. I wanted to believe every word you said. Last five years I’ve asked myself why. You asked me why I didn’t leave when you told me to this time. It was because I’d finally figured it out.”
Brian takes a deep breath. “I gave you the car... because I respect you. I care about you. Can we just leave it at that? Please?”
“No.” Shaking my head I rise to my feet and stand over him, forcing him to tip his head back to look at up me. “How much do you care? How far would you go for me? How far would you follow?”
For a long time he looks at me, saying nothing. But this time I don’t back down, I’m not letting him run from this, not again. Finally he speaks and it’s as if the words are being pulled out of him, so quiet I have to lean forward just to hear him. “More than anything. All the way. And to the ends of the earth.” He looks like it cost him his soul to say it. “Can we please drop it now?”
Mia was right. We’re both as bad - as dumb - as each other. “No.” I sit down next to him. Easier to say this if I’m not facing him or pretendin’ I’m trying to intimidate him, which is pointless anyway. “Are you even listening? You had me, Brian, from the very start. You don’t get it. I’ve known Vince and Leon... Jesse and Letty... all my life. I’ve never invited anyone new in to the family. Never. They didn’t get why suddenly I didn’t want you outta my sight. You were everywhere and while I think Letty got it and I know now Mia got it, Vince and Leon definitely didn’t.”
He looks down at his hands, at anything but me. “Mia told me, that first night, you usually didn’t like anyone. But you liked me.” I smile, imagining Mia saying that. But he looks sad. “I lied to her.”
It’s not something I want to talk about now. “You lied to us all.” I wave it off but he’s shaking his head.
“No. Well, yeah, but... that’s not what I’m talking about. I told her you were incidental, that being with you was just a bonus. I lied.”
That really shouldn’t make me feel what I’m feeling right now. I should be angry, furious, but I’m not. “I kept you around, kept you close, because you weren’t Vince and you weren’t Leon and I couldn’t understand what you were, couldn’t even begin to fathom what I was feeling, what I was even doing. I left you in L.A. because everything had gone to shit, because you gave me an out and I took it. I spent five years wondering where you’d gone, what you were doing. At the border, I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.”
“You said you’d rather die than go back.”
I love that he’s held onto that like some kind of mantra he’s living his life by. How could I not love this guy?
“I’d rather die than lose you again.” If I’d known way back that it was the way to shut him up, I’d have said it five years ago. Although to be fair I didn’t know it was in me to say it back then. Now I know it’s the absolute truth. He’s still not quite looking at me, and the expression on his face is as close to fear as I’ve seen him come. I know that feeling. One thing to get a blow job from a guy at school, or a mutual hand job with a friend, neither mean anything. But this is different, this is strong. “You gave me the car because you fell in love.”
He blinks like he’s crying but when he looks at me his eyes are dry and clear, vivid. “If we get into this, it’s for the long-haul. I’ve given up everything but even that wasn’t much. I won’t ever ask you for anything, especially not this.”
I’ve never been hesitant about anything, ever. But as I reach to put my hand on his shoulder I feel like I’m walking blind through a minefield. “But you want it.” It’s not a question.
He nods once. “Yeah. I just can’t believe you do.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “We seriously don’t know each other, Brian.” I run my thumb along the line of his ear. “It’s time we changed that.” My hand moves to curl around his neck and I am so relieved when he turns into my palm, head dropping to kiss the pulse point in my wrist almost reverently and I’m so not having that. Lifting my other hand to his other shoulder, I push.
Slipping the buttons of his shirt isn’t easy, he’s a mass of pent up energy and I’m tryin’ to harness it. Holding him down means I lose the use of one hand and I want to touch. He’s already got my shirt undone and my jeans open. His hands are obscene, are everywhere. But in counterpoint, he kisses like he drives; wild but controlled and with total focus.
I get my mouth on his throat and he tastes of cheap soap, sweat and motor oil. Like he spent so long working on my car it got under his skin. Spreading his shirt I kiss around the fading bruises, the raw scar that’s taking longer to mend than the Charger took.
I get my hand between us and unzip, lifting my head to look down at him. When my fingers touch his dick he surges up, lips parted, getting his tongue in my mouth. I take that as encouragement, close my hand around him. He shifts under me, gets one leg hooked over mine, long fingers finally wrapping around an erection so sensitive it feels like I’ve had it for five years.
It’s a bloody long time. I come painfully hard the second he touches me, whole body shaking with the power of it, so intense I don’t notice Brian’s orgasm until it’s drying on my hand and stomach. “Fuck.” I don’t know which one of us says it but I can’t keep from laughing as I roll off him, onto the bed beside him, leaving my sticky hand lying in the crease of his thigh.
“We’ll get better with practice,” he assures me.
“Hey! I thought that was pretty damn good.”
He turns his head, those incredible eyes looking straight through me, through the bullshit, to the good inside me. I love him, so much it terrifies me. “Best I’ve ever had,” he says, and he’s deadly serious, like he’s saying a hell of a lot more.
A sudden banging on the door makes us both jump. I’ve forgotten the rest of the world exists, forgotten Vince and Leon and Mia are waiting for us, getting hungrier by the minute. Brian starts laughing. “Shit.” It’s a shared sentiment. I know the moment he’s gonna make a break for the bathroom, and feeling playful I tackle him halfway, taking him down easily because he’s not expecting it, bolting over him, slamming the door behind me, making the walls of the motel room shake.
“Bastard!” he yells good-naturedly, and I feel so fucking happy there’s no way the others aren’t going to work out that something’s happened, something’s changed.
He’s waiting outside the door when I open it, his hand plasters itself around the back of my head and he pulls me into an open, wet kiss. I get him in my arms, hold him so tight it’s gotta hurt but he doesn’t even flinch, just gets his other arm around me and brings us impossibly closer.
“Dom!” Vince. Shit. I’m sorely tempted to shout at him to get lost, but chances are that would lead to him breaking the door down in case I’m finally giving Brian a beating and he’s missing out on the chance to get a sneaky boot in. Not that he hates Brian. Not now. Just because. If he catches us like this, he might try to beat the shit out of us both.
Brian backs off, gives me a look like this could have definitely gone somewhere interesting if it hadn’t been for Vince, and slips past me into the bathroom with a grin.
My dick’s giving me pointed instructions to check out what else is on offer, but Vince yells for me again and I give it up, not bothering to check if my jeans are containing the situation when I throw open the door and yell, “What?” in his face.
#