Dark Roads

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Summary: Jimmie knows there was never really a choice.

AUTHOR: Gwen
EMAIL: gwen@cryptoffic.com
RATING: NC-17 - warning…contains explicit m/m sex.
CHARACTER: Jimmie Johnson/Dale Earnhardt Jr., Jimmie 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. 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: Because Jimmie's just too freaking Pretty.  He needs roughing up a bit.
AUTHOR'S NOTE PART DEUX: Takes place the night before Pocono, summer of 2007 because, yes, that's how long it's taken me to write this mother. Inspiration taken from the Gorgeous Gayness that is JJ, the Awesome Cool that is Junior, and these lyrics by Snow Patrol:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hit me hard enough to wake me
And lead me wild to your dark roads”

**********

Jimmie’s pretty sure this night will earn him a special place in hell.

He’s never cheated on Chandra before. Not that their marriage is anything but show, but still, she doesn’t deserve this.  She’d nursed him through the carnage that had been his life after Jeff had moved on and, for that alone, he owes her.

But, when the gleaming red, low-slung Vette pulls up beside him outside his motor home, it’s not Chandra he thinks about.

The car is sleek, shiny and purring with barely leashed power. A lot like its driver.

It’s midsummer hellish hot, but Junior manages to look cool and comfortable in faded jeans, a camo t-shirt with a ragged hem, and the ever-present BUD cap.  Jimmie feels nerdy and overdressed in his HMS polo, like he’s in high school again, Debate Team Boy facing off with the Varsity Hero.

He forces nonchalance because, hey, this might be as innocent as a drive-by “hello”.

“Hey, Junior, how’s it going?”

Face inscrutable behind dark sunglasses, fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm on the steering wheel, Dale studies him for a long minute before answering.

“So. We doing this, or what?”

Bastard. But, then, Junior’s always been known for calling a spade a spade. Jimmie leans over, his hand on the car’s window frame, metal hot against his palms.

“What, you’re not even going to buy me dinner first?”

Junior’s smile has sharp edges as he touches the button that unlocks the doors.

“Get in.”

Dale maneuvers the car slowly through the maze of people and vehicles preparing for tomorrow’s race, acknowledging the waves and greetings he gets with an easy grin, a nod, a flick of his hand. Hell, you’d think he was the reigning Cup champion.

But he’s Mr. Popularity and Jimmie can’t help squirming a little in his seat, as if everyone they pass can tell exactly what this is.

Junior laughs, low and mocking.

“Jesus, Jimmie, relax.”  He pulls up to the exit. “We’re teammates now, right? Best buds, and all that shit.”

Jimmie doesn’t answer, just pulls his sunglasses from his pocket, taking refuge behind them.

Junior reaches over to turn on the CD player, flooding the car with redneck rock.  Presses his foot to the floor, and sends them speeding down the highway. 

Jimmie gazes out the passenger window, watching the sun begin to set behind the lush, rolling Pennsylvania hills. So restful and quiet and nothing at all like what’s going on inside the car, inside Jimmie’s gut.

He thinks about what’s brought him here. About the years when Junior was nothing more than a casual acquaintance, a fellow driver. Sometimes his hero, because what guy didn’t want to be Dale Earnhardt, Jr.? And, someone he sometimes hated because he knew he’d never, ever have that much confidence, that level of self-assurance.  That much cool. 

Of course, Jimmie had been wrapped up in Jeff for so long and then, after that train wreck of a relationship, he’d hooked up with Chandra, who’s beautiful and sweet and doesn’t require much from him except an extremely high line of credit and a red carpet date once in a while.

She’s okay with the fact that he mostly likes to stay in that soft, insulated, cocoon of a world he’d made for himself after Jeff and that, as much as anything, makes Jimmie want to keep her around.

So, Junior had just been sort of a distant presence, a blip on Jimmie’s radar, just another car to be passed every Sunday on his way to the front.

But, now? He’s coming to Hendrick. Moving into Jimmie’s neighborhood, where he’ll be a constant presence.

That BIG ANNOUNCEMENT had hardly been made when he’d started showing up at HMS. Rick paraded him around, proud of snagging Nascar’s Golden Boy for his own.

And, it had only taken a few more days before Jimmie had begun to feel like a bug under Junior’s personal microscope. Every time Jimmie turns around, he’s just fucking there.

Watching him with a steady intensity that dances between open invitation and double-dog-dare.  Standing closer than he needs to, like personal space is nothing he’s ever heard about.  Brushing up against him when he walks by. Sitting right behind him at team meetings, his foot resting on the back rung of Jimmie’s chair, blue eyes burning a streak across the back of Jimmie’s neck.

Dragging at him like the best kind of drug, like all the good things he’s ever wanted, like everything he’s always been afraid of.

And, Jimmie fought it, long and hard, because, fuck, wasn’t one encounter with a larger-than-life icon enough to last him, oh, maybe, forever?

Junior shifts in the driver’s seat, palming the steering wheel as he takes one of the many country roads that leads off the main highway. Turns the music down and starts talking about points and chase probabilities and how he’d love to see Juan Pablo get his ass kicked once and for all.

It takes Jimmie a minute to catch up because, seriously, he wants to talk shop???  Now????

He recovers quickly, though, and goes along, carrying on a normal conversation like he’s not even noticing way the denim stretches tight over Junior’s thighs or how his hair looks redder when the last rays of the sun are catching it through the windshield of the car.

Jimmie gives a frustrated sigh and wonders when he started having goddamned random Oprah moments.

Thankfully, before he can become any more of a teenage girl, they pull up in front of one of those touristy looking log cabins that abound in the Poconos.  Rustic and secluded enough so you can claim you’re roughing it, while still equipped with sauna, hot tub, and Pizza Hut delivery.

It’s shady and isolated and Jimmie follows Junior up to the porch like a lamb to the slaughter, trying not to wonder just how far in over his head he’s getting.

Once inside, Junior tosses the keys onto a table by the door, toes off his shoes, enlightens him that the place “belongs to a friend”, and heads for the fridge. 

Jimmie closes the door, kicks his shoes off also because, rustic or not, this is some seriously expensive flooring, and hears the “Heads Up!” quick enough that he catches the beer bottle that comes flying at him.

It’s cold and it’s wet and it’s something he can be doing with his hands. He hates that he can’t be smooth and cool and careless about this, but Junior’s all about unknown and dangerous and it’s more than a little disturbing how jacked up Jimmie gets over unknown and dangerous.

And, he hadn’t moved away from the door quick enough, because now he’s pinned back against it by laser blue eyes and the bottom of a cold beer bottle pressed to the hollow of his throat, just hard enough.

“You don’t really want dinner first, do you, Jimmie?”

Junior’s voice is hot summer nights and dirty, secret sex and Jimmie can’t remember the last time he’s gotten so hard, so fast.

Junior moves the beer bottle away and fills the cold, wet spot it left with a swipe of his tongue that shoots through Jimmie like an electrical shock.  Then his hand cups Jimmie through his jeans and he leans close, mouth warm and wet against Jimmie’s ear.

“I didn’t think so.”

Junior squeezes his hand around Jimmie’s cock once, hard, and bites, quick and sharp, at his earlobe before pulling away and heading up the stairs.  He’s taking them two at a time, undressing on the way, and leaving Jimmie to follow or not.

Jimmie knows there was never really a choice.  By the time he reaches the bedroom, Junior’s shirtless, barefoot and crowding him up against the wall, with one hand on Jimmie’s crotch and the other around the base of Jimmie’s throat, thumb resting on his pulse.  Slides his tongue into Jimmie’s mouth like he belongs there.  Like he’s staking claim, moving in, and calling all the shots.  It makes Jimmie dizzy and stupid and blindingly hard. He’s trying to fight through the dizzy and stupid and get with the program when Junior breaks the kiss and runs his hands up Jimmie’s sides, impatiently pulling his shirt off and throwing it to the floor.  Drags his palms down Jimmie’s chest and breathes into his mouth.

“Suck me.”

His words ride the edge between request and demand and Jimmie’s fine with either one.  He goes to his knees and reaches for the button on Junior’s jeans.

“Careful.”

Jimmie hears the whispered warning and recognizes the need for it as he slowly unzips and peels aside the denim because, of course there’s no underwear, Junior probably doesn’t even own a pair. He manages to keep his hands steady so he won’t catch anything important in the zipper.

Jimmie wraps his hand around Junior’s cock and licks across the head.  Sweet, hot, salty taste of precum on his lips. Sharp, quick intake of breath from Junior as he pushes into Jimmie’s mouth.  Jimmie closes his eyes and takes it, till his lips meet his fist.  Junior’s dick is heavy and thick sliding over his tongue, filling his mouth with hard and smooth and heat and Jimmie just sucks him in, forgets finesse and technique and just goes for the win.  Junior’s got a hand on the back of Jimmie’s head and he’s running his mouth, low and rough and filthy, until Jimmie has to let go of Junior’s hip to press a hand against his own cock, willing himself not to come.

Junior tugs hard at his hair, making Jimmie look up at him.  Watches Jimmie’s face while he fucks his mouth and Jimmie lets him, feeling Junior’s cock bumping the back of his throat, tasting the come leaking onto his tongue.

“Fuck.  Jimmie, god, look at you....”  Junior’s voice is raw, he bites at the words like they’re being forced from him.  One hard thrust that catches Jimmie off-guard and he fights his gag reflex.  Feels Junior’s fingers tighten in his hair, and then Junior’s pulling away and shucking his jeans.

Jimmie follows his lead and in a flash he’s naked and up against the heat of Junior’s skin.  Junior bites at his shoulder, slow drag of his teeth across Jimmie’s collarbone, and muscles them backwards till they’re falling onto the bed, all awkward limbs and desperate, hurried fumbling. Cursing and hissing as elbows and knees hit all the wrong places until Junior just takes over and manhandles Jimmie onto his back and straddles him.  Takes Jimmie’s wrists in his hands, pushes Jimmie’s hands down on the bed.

“Be. Still.”

Jimmie’s cock jerks and he sucks in a breath that hurts, but he obeys because Junior’s pushing every fucking button he has, and...God.  Junior lets go of his hands and is making his way down Jimmie’s chest with his mouth. Sucks at his nipples.  Licks over his ribs.  Bites at his stomach.  Makes a fist around Jimmie’s cock while he sucks a bruise on the inside of his thigh.

“Fuck!”  Jimmie pushes into Junior’s hand and reaches for his hair, only to get his hand swatted away.

“Put ‘em back.”  Junior’s voice and ragged and rough and right on the edge.

Jimmie thinks he might come, just hearing it, but he reacts instinctively and drops his hands. Junior’s sitting up and reaching for the nightstand.  Jimmie thinks about what kind of “friend” owns this place but, whatever, he’s just glad they keep the lube stocked because it only takes a minute before Junior’s getting busy again.  He closes his mouth over Jimmie’s cock and slides a slick finger inside him.  Holds Jimmie’s hips down on the bed with his other hand and it’s a good thing, cause Jimmie jerks and bites off a long, low moan. 

Junior’s quick and efficient with his prep, opening Jimmie up, scissoring his fingers deep inside him, keeping Jimmie hard with his mouth, until Jimmie’s squirming and groaning and begging him to fuck him now, God, please.

With a last lick at Jimmie’s cock, Junior comes up on his knees and pushes inside him, filling him up, rough sweet stretch that’s just on the wrong side of pain and Jimmie fists the sheets and takes him in.  Breathes past the burn, fights to relax his muscles while Junior thrusts, quick and shallow, until he’s all the way in, hot and full and pulsing inside him.

Jimmie knows this has been coming too long; they’ve been heading this way too fast, for it to last long for either of them.  He uses his leg muscles to draw Junior closer and pushes up to meet him.  Junior holds his hips, fingers branding his skin, and fucks him deep and hard.  It burns and it hurts and it’s so fucking good. Junior leans forward, bracing his arms on the bed, and Jesus, fuck!, he’s hitting home on every thrust. Muscles straining, sweat dripping down his chest, grunting with every push, his eyes burning into Jimmie’s, hot as the sun.  He’s not the legend and he’s not the hero and he’s so fucking much more.  He’s warm skin and strong muscle and blazing eyes and Jimmie is so fucked because he knows there’s no way in hell he can have this once and walk away. 

He reaches for Junior, whispers his name in a shuddering breath, and immediately regrets it when Junior closes his eyes and pulls away, back onto his knees.  Holds Jimmie’s thighs, snaps his hips forward and comes inside him, biting back a low moan, shuddering and pushing and holding deep while Jimmie closes a hand around his own cock and gets himself off. 

Junior pulls out quickly and Jimmie grinds his teeth against the sharp burn.  They lay, side by side and miles apart, until Junior sits up and reaches for his jeans.  He gets dressed in a silence that Jimmie’s afraid to break. 

Running a restless hand through his hair, Junior doesn’t meet his eyes as he drops a card on the nightstand.

“Call this number, they’ll send a car for you.”

Just like that, he’s gone, and Jimmie lies tangled up in what he wants and what he knows will never happen.  Listens to the low rumble of the Vette as it starts up and fades into the summer night.

He knows that the leaving will only make him want it more.

*Finis*

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Gwen - gwen@cryptoffic.com