And The Thunder Rolls

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Summary: “God. Fathers and sons and the things they do to each other, even when they don’t realize it.”

AUTHOR: Gwen
EMAIL: gwen@cryptoffic.com
RATING: NC-17 - warning…contains explicit m/m sex.
CHARACTER: Dale Earnhardt Jr./Tony Stewart, Tony POV
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these guys, more’s the pity. I make no money from this, more’s the pity. But, at least I’m keeping them busy--like here, after the Richmond rain delay. Being Richmond, this takes place before Junior’s BIG ANNOUNCEMENT. Cause, of course, that’s a whole other world of angst that has yet to be written. I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Mucho thanks to Zippit, most awesome Beta! She’s going to cure me of my Run-on-sentence-syndrome one day. :)
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I wake when the wind kicks up, rattling the windows of the coach. A glance at the clock shows that it’s four in the morning and it sounds like the weatherman got it right. Heavy storms were predicted for the overnight hours and, can it just go ahead and get the fuck over with, so we can run this afternoon?

Yesterday’s race was cancelled and that’s always a bitch. The fans hate it, sponsors hate it, owners and crew chiefs and pit guys and--probably most of all--drivers hate it. There’s nothing like having your metabolism jacked up and ready to run at 200 miles an hour, only to have to stop and sit on your ass and wait. Staring at the clouds like you can maybe just force them away with sheer willpower. Dodging restless reporters with dead airtime to fill. Trying not to give your crew chief a migraine when you ask him to go back over the car with a fine tooth comb, even though you both know there’s nothing that needs fixing. Until, finally, NASCAR pulls the plug on the whole thing and, at least, you can try to dial down and out of race mode.

Once we were released, things got better. After a nice steak dinner, a few of us took over the back room of a local bar for a lot of beer and a lively, marathon poker game. I got lucky and won a ton of money off of Happy. Then later, after we broke it up to abide by NASCAR’s pre-raceday curfew, June came back to stay the night with me and I got lucky again. I’m hoping maybe that luck will hold out and I’ll spend some quality time in Victory Lane later on today.

Another gust of wind, flicker of lightning, and then thunder rumbles, rattling the windows of the coach. Junior stirs beside me, still asleep but sensing the storm.

He hates storms. I mean, really hates them. I remember, a long time ago, we were talking on one of those whiskey-soaked, bare-your-soul, post-mindblowing-sex nights, and he told me about when he was just a kid and got caught out on a lake in a fierce storm. A fishing trip with his Dad gone bad--lightning struck, the boat overturned, and for a while June found himself treading water in the dark, thinking he was going to die. Dale Sr. saved him, of course. His dad, who was bigger than life even back then. The guy who was never afraid of anything or anyone. How could the boy Junior had been then, admit to being afraid of a little thunderstorm?

God. Fathers and sons and the things they do to each other, even when they don’t realize it. It took me a lot of time and endless patience before June was able to open up to me about things like that.

The rain starts up and Mother Nature is definitely not fooling around. It’s pounding on the roof, the wind blows against the sides of the coach. Loud, sharp crack of thunder and Dale jerks awake, eyes wide, sharp gasp loud in the dark.

I raise up and lay a hand on his chest and, instinctively, his fingers close over mine, holding tight.

“Shhhh…it’s okay, just a storm.” I drop a kiss on his shoulder. God, he’s tense.

Lightning flashes again, electric bright, and I can see him clearly now. Eyes closed, muscle in his jaw twitching, face pale in the stark glare that lights up the room. I can feel his heart hammering beneath my palm.

What he needs is a distraction.

My mouth on his nipple makes him jump. Sharp hiss of breath and he’s got a fistful of my hair, making sure I’m not going anywhere. He doesn’t have to worry about that.

I make my way across his chest with open-mouthed kisses that have him moaning. Long lick across his collarbone and he’s arching up against me, his fingers digging into my shoulders. I can feel his cock pressing into me, and he’s hard as a fucking rock.

Thunder, just overhead now, deafening. I bite down on that sweet spot on his throat that only I know about, and he wraps a leg around mine, straining against me now. Harsh whisper in my ear….

“Tony…God…I need….”

“I know, babe.” Soothe the bite with my tongue. “I know.”

I untangle myself from him just long enough to reach the drawer in the nightstand and I make short work of getting us both ready.

I don’t want to hurt him, so I try to start slow, but he’s having none of that, pushing against me hard and fast. I give him what he needs and, fuck, he feels so good, so hot and tight around me.

Rain is pounding the roof over our heads. Blinding flash, brilliant glare lighting up the entire room, and it makes me catch my breath. God, he’s beautiful. Pale against the dark sheets, solid and strong and pulling me into him, blue eyes intense and focused on me, rough voice urging me deeper, harder, faster, and I know I’m not going to last much longer.

I wrap my hand around him, jerking him off as I’m fucking him and I’m not the only one on edge, because it’s only a couple of minutes until he comes, head thrown back, eyes closed, pushing up into my hand, yelling my name loud enough to compete with the thunder.

I push into him one last time, as deep as I can, and then I’m coming, long and hard, and he pulls me close to him, keeping us together, holding me up till I can stop shaking. Finally, I pull away to collapse beside him.

Long minutes later, when I can breathe again, I notice that the storm has passed, except for a light rain falling outside the coach window. The thunder rumbles low, way off in the distance, and the room is dark once more.

He hooks one leg over mine, lays a hand over my heart, and aims a kiss at my shoulder. Half asleep already, and mumbling. “Love you, Tony.”

I squeeze his hand and pray that I can always be there, through every storm he meets.

“You too, June.”

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Gwen - gwen@cryptoffic.com