What About Now

Home : Stories by Gwen : What About Now

Summary: Truex wins more than his first Cup race at Dover.

AUTHOR: Gwen
EMAIL: gwen@cryptoffic.com
RATING: NC-17
CHARACTER: Martin Truex/Dale Earnhardt Jr, Alternating POV
DISCLAIMER: I've got no claim on these guys, except I treat em good and give em good times. I’m making no money, and intending no harm. And, I copped the title from Chris Daughtry. Ya’ll really need to listen to his CD. 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: This one’s for Zippit. I hope I did right by her baby.  And, thanks to Cat for the most awesome beta, even though I know this one kind of hurt. :)
AUTHOR'S NOTE2: ~*~*~*~ denotes POV shift.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dover International Speedway: June 4th, 2007

“I AM A NEXTEL CUP RACE WINNER!”

God, I love the sound of that. I want to crawl up on top of the coach and scream it to the skies.

My first win in the big leagues and it’s even better than I’ve dreamed about all these years.

Victory Lane was sweet, with all the team there and, finally, a win to celebrate. They’ve worked so long and hard to make this happen.

And, the best part of all? In the middle of all the champagne and confetti and press and the yelling of the fans, I looked up to see Junior striding towards me with a grin on his face as big as Texas. You’d have thought he’d won the race himself.

He was there and gone in only a few seconds--just long enough to give me a huge bear hug that I’ll never forget and to whisper in my ear, “See? I told you you could do it!”

Then, he disappeared into the crowd, and I know it was because he didn’t want to take away from my time in the spotlight.

But, those few seconds were enough to wipe away all the tension of the last few weeks. All the crap surrounding his announcement that he’s leaving DEI, all the public hoopla and the private bitterness between him and Teresa, the anxiety around the shop, the uncertainty we’ve all felt about the future, even though I know he’s doing what he has to do. 

For me, personally, his decision to leave our team was devastating on a lot of levels. He’s been my mentor for so long. He’s the guy who brought me to the show because he believed in me, who guided me and advised me and taught me more than I could ever have hoped to learn. The guy who’s been my friend off the track, who gave me a place to stay while I learned the ropes, an ear to listen to when things were tough, a boost of confidence when my season was in the toilet, and a kick in the ass when I was being a jerk

The guy I fell in love with.

Peeling off my firesuit and climbing into the shower, I turn the water on as hot as I can stand it, although today the usual post-race aches and pains don’t seem to be there. Damn, I still feel like I could fly if I wanted to, and I doubt I’ll ever come down from this high.

As I lather up, I think about Junior. Hell, I’m always thinking about Junior.

I think about long summer nights when we’d sit out by the lake, drinking beer and telling tales. It took June a long time to really open up to me, because he’s such a private person by nature. But I worked really hard to earn his confidence, always giving the press no more than the company line when they asked me about him. Never repeating anything he told me that wasn’t for public consumption. And, little by little, he began to trust me until finally he got to the point that he’d tell me everything.

We spent so many nights talking about our dreams, our fears. We built and raced go-karts like fiends, played computer games like our very lives depended on winning, and then ran the back roads of North Carolina in the dead of night at breakneck speeds. He’d laugh, saying he’d made it his personal mission in life to “redneck me up”. We’d gorge on Thanksgiving dinners at his grandmother’s house and then fall asleep on her porch for hours. We even got roped into taking his nieces trick-or-treating one year and when they painted clown make-up on Junior, I kept the pictures for blackmail purposes.

Then, there were the low times, too. Times when our cars were shit and we would have long, dry spells without even a top ten finish. Days when the press would pick one of us as their whipping boy for the week. Temper fights, and DNFs, wrecked racecars, pissed off sponsors, and bosses on our asses about one thing or another. Rain-outs and missing the chase and guilt trips because we’d for sure never, ever, live up to the benchmarks set by our fathers.

Stepping out of the shower, I reach for a towel and dry off, then start to get dressed. The guys had said there’d be a celebration party tonight. Strange enough, as much as I know I need to join them, I’d like nothing better than for it to just be me and Dale.

I remember way back, when I first started hearing the rumors around the shop about him. I didn’t believe them. One, because he was forever getting hit on by every girl who came within a five-mile radius of him, and two, because as much as we were together, he’d never said the first thing about it. Not ever. 

But, as time went on, I noticed how much he didn’t respond to all the girls, unless it was for publicity, or the occasional, short-lived trophy girlfriend. He never brought girls home, he never talked about them. Nothing. 

It was months, though, before I really knew. Before I began to catch him watching me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. Before he started to sit closer, brush up against me way more than necessary, that kind of thing.

I’ve never been with a man before. Not for any special reason, particularly, except that I’ve never met anyone who’s made me think about it.

But, Junior? Oh, I definitely thought about it. I thought it about it day and night. I thought about it every time I’d see him wandering the house in his boxers, looking better than any wet dream I’d ever had. I thought about it every time we brushed up against one another, every time he leaned over to say something in my ear in that low, southern drawl that sent chills up my spine.

I thought about it every single night that I spent jerking off in my room, after he’d come home smelling like another man.

I can’t say, now, that he didn’t give me every opportunity. But, every time he did, I ran.

I flirted with everything in a skirt, hell, I made up women to talk about. I backed up when he got too close, acted dense when he made it pretty plain what he wanted. Anything I could think of to keep him at arm’s length.

Because I’d heard the other rumors around the shop, too…about Junior’s new “boy”, and about how I’d figured out that the way to climb the NASCAR ladder was to sleep with Little E. The sly winks and nudges and sometimes even not-so-subtle slurs. It was Kyle Busch who once asked me how it felt to be Earnhardt’s whore.

The Shrub wore the bruises for a week, and even used the “I walked into a door” story to cover for the black eye. 

Still, I was afraid. The one thing that terrified me was that, if I ever gave in and took what he was so apparently offering, he’d someday look back and say those same things.

I cared about him so much that I couldn’t take that risk. 

So, I kept up my charade until, finally, he seemed to accept that it wasn’t going to happen. Things went on as before and we remained friends, even after I moved out and got my own place.

If I noticed the hurt in his eyes when he looked at me sometimes, I never let on.

Standing in front of the mirror now, combing my hair, I stop and take a good look at the guy staring back at me. This man’s a winner. I finally proved that today. To me, and him, and everybody else. I won on my own, and I know I can keep on winning. On my own.

And, the best thing of all about that?

There’s nothing to stop me now. I can give him as much as I’d take from him.

I’m scared as hell that he might not still want me. Scared that I don’t know how the hell to even go about this.

But, today’s a day for going for broke and I’m having a pretty damn good run so far.

Taking a deep breath, I grab my winning race cap, and head out the door.

I just hope it’s not too late.

~*~*~*~

He looked real good in Victory Lane today. Nobody deserves it more; he’s worked his ass off for so long to get there. And, I couldn’t help it, I had to go over and congratulate him. I gave him a hug, and tried to show how happy I was for him, as much as I could under the glare of the media lights. But he was so on top of the world; he probably won’t even remember it.

Things have been a little bit strained between us lately, and I hate that. I know that Teresa and Max have been on him about being careful to praise DEI in front of the public, and to distance himself from me. He’s caught between a rock and a hard place.

I sat down and talked to him before I made the public announcement that I was leaving DEI. He deserved that. And, he was great about it, because he knows that I’m doing what I have to do. Being the kind of friend that he is, as long as I’m happy, he’s happy for me. But being that he’s still working for Teresa, that kind of makes it rough.

I grab a beer out of the fridge and flop down on the couch. I’ll be expected at the party tonight, and I really just don’t feel like going. I mean, I’m happy for Martin’s win, but I don’t know how well I can handle hanging out with him again. Not sure I can drink and laugh and act like nothing’s wrong while I’m watching the track party girls crawl all over him. Not sure I’m over him enough to do that and not let it show.

I remember when Martin first moved in with me. He was so careful, so unsure of his place with me, his place at the shop and on the track. No matter how hard I try to play it down sometimes, I kind of draw a crowd everywhere I go. Sometimes I have fun with that, and sometimes it’s just a pain in the ass. Martin hadn’t been faced with that before and, being just naturally a reserved kind of guy, he had a hard time getting used to it. He was working so hard at making an impact in the Busch series, and I helped him in every way I could. I always knew he had it in him to be a champion, and I still believe that. He just didn’t believe in himself enough back then.

I moved him in the house with me, cause I thought that the more time we spent together, the better we could get his driving where we wanted it to be. We spent hours and hours going over strategy, using the computer programs, studying the stats, watching the films of the old champions, and whatnot. We’d sit up way into the night, cause neither of us ever got tired of talking racing.

Course, we were pretty much always together at the shop, too, and I’d go to the Busch races to coach him and cheer him on. I should have known the talk would start up, it always does.

I wish that the guys at the track and the media would spend as much time doing their jobs as they do worrying about my private life. Not that any of them are going to say anything publicly. See, sometimes it’s a good thing to be NASCAR’s poster boy. Anybody who takes a shot at me over something like that risks hanging themselves with a long rope held by the public, the press, and the NASCAR suits. There’s nothing anyone can prove, I make sure of that by keeping to myself so damn much. 

But, public or not, I know that there were those who took digs at Martin. He never let on, but I know that’s the way it is, I’ve been through it before. They can all kiss my ass, but I hate thinking that they gave him a hard time. Especially, since there was nothing to it.

Martin never thought of me that way. That hurts, but there you have it.

When he moved in with me, my family took to him right off, including him in all the holiday dinners and such. And, before you knew it, we were spending every bit of our time together, even when we weren’t working. We drove everything from stock cars to go-karts to ATVs to speedboats and joysticks. We won and lost paychecks in all-night poker games. Drank sometimes till we puked. Had barbecue grill-offs and endless games of pool. Repainted my garage and rebuilt the engines on three of my cars. Laid out on the roof of the house one night, watching the stars and talking about the day when it would be Earnhardt and Truex Juniors who ruled the NASCAR record books. 

Somewhere along the way, I fell for him. Hard.

At first, I figured, you know, things were so great, why not throw the sex in there too, and make it perfect? Martin is hot as hell, no doubt about it. A body he worked hard to keep in shape, a tan that I always envied, since I can’t seem to get one for shit. Thick, dark hair that looked especially good when he’d stumble into the kitchen in the mornings, fresh out of bed and looking to brew some of that vile coffee he kept around. Eyes that would stare into mine so intensely when I was trying to explain something to him about racing, something he wanted to be sure and remember.

I thought he’d be easy, that he’d want it as much as I did.

I was wrong. Because, no matter how plain I tried to make it that I wanted him, he wasn’t having it. I mean, he really didn’t want it. I’d get close, he’d pull back. I’d brush up against him, he’d beat it out of the room with some excuse or another. Then, he started inventing reasons to be away from the house, started running with other people. 

And, the hell of it is, that’s when it became more for me than just wanting to have sex with him. It was like, the more distant he got, the more I realized what I was losing. I missed him when he wasn’t around. I wasn’t interested in anything or anybody else. And I decided I was willing to have him on any level, just so he’d stay. I stopped pushing, stopped making moves on him.

But, by then, it was too late. He told me he’d found his own place. He made light of it, said he had mooched off me long enough, it was time he took care of himself, all that shit.

But I knew. I knew by the hurt look in his eyes that I was the one who’d made him leave. And, I’ve never stopped regretting it.

Just as I’m draining my beer, I hear a knock on the coach door. Fuck. I’m just not in the mood for whoever it is.

~*~*~*~

As soon as I knock on the door, I wish I hadn’t. Maybe this is a mistake. I mean, Junior’s moved on, it’s not like he couldn’t have anybody he wanted, anytime, anywhere. I shut him down a long time ago and I’m a fool to think I can just waltz back in and claim him.

But then he’s opening the door and standing there in front of me, looking like everything I’ve ever wanted and I know I have to at least try.

He leans against the doorjamb, long legs crossed at the ankles, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, and that lazy grin on his face that always makes my insides jump around. He reaches out and flicks the bill of my cap with his fingers. 

“Hey, looking good there, Trux. Feels good to collect those winner’s caps, don’t it?”

Somehow, I drag my brain off how good he looks long enough to respond.

“Yeah, well, I’ve only “collected” one.”

“First of many, dude. It’s pretty sweet to be able to park in Victory Lane, huh?”

“Hell, yes!” I can’t stop gushing about it. “I want to do it again!”

He laughs, because he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be partying?”

Okay, it’s now or never. I look him in the eye and shove everything away. The win, the party, everything.

“I need to talk to you, June.”

He looks a little surprised, but shrugs his shoulders, steps back, and motions for me to come in.

“Sure. You want a beer?”

As he closes the door behind us, the nerves come back, and I work to get past them. I try to remember all the pretty words I’ve rehearsed, all the ways I was going to apologize, to try to explain, to try to get everything said that I should have said to him a long time ago.

But, I turn around and he’s right there, and it all goes away. He’s so close, so fucking close, and it seems like the most natural thing in the world to just step up and kiss him. 

~*~*~*~

Holy Shit.

I could tell when I let him in the door that something was bothering him. Dissecting Truex has been high on my list of ways to spend my time for so long that I can read him like a book.

But before I can quiz him about it, before I can say a single word, I find myself backed up against the wall and he’s kissing me--kissing me--like there’s no tomorrow.

It’s wet and it’s sloppy and it’s awkward, but, it’s Martin. I drop the beer bottle and, instinctively, reach out and put my hands at his waist, holding him still, and letting him have at it.

I may never get this chance again.

And it’s over way too quick, cause I don’t think he remembered that he needed to keep breathing. His hat’s been knocked to the floor and he’s standing in front of me, sorta holding on to me and looking a little shell-shocked. All big eyes and shallow breaths and I can feel him shaking a bit, and I just wonder what the fuck.

But for all his nervousness, he’s looking me right in the eye, kinda like he’s daring me to push him away or something.

And, okay, I’m not sure what’s happening here? But, I’m going with it. I figure he’s gonna bolt any minute now, but he’s had his kiss and, by God, I’m gonna have mine. 

I tug at his tee shirt to bring him closer and it surprises me when he allows it. I start to kiss him and we bump noses because he’s trying too hard. So, I just run my hands up his sides real slow and shush him, and he relaxes a little. 

This time it’s slow and sweet and I’m thinking if I could just stop the clock and stay like this, that’d be great. In fact, it’d be fucking awesome. Cause this is Martin and he’s kissing me back and his hands are tangled up in my shirt and he’s making these little noises way down in his throat that lets me know he’s definitely on board.

It’s good, it’s so damn good and I’ve wanted it for so long.

That’s the thought that makes me stop.

I’ve wanted it too long. Too long and too much to be able to handle a quickie just because he’s on a post-win high and feeling like a walk on the wild side. Cause, when he comes down from that high and remembers he likes girls, I’ll be left to pick up the pieces.

I did that once when he moved out. I’m not doing it again.

So, I break the kiss and move him back enough so I can get some distance between us.

“You don’t want this, Martin.”

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t hesitate. “Yes I do.”

Fuck. He’s not going to make this easy, and it’s starting to piss me off. I’m not getting hurt by this again.

“Yeah? Since when?”

He still doesn’t flinch. “Since forever, June.”

He steps closer and I step back and wonder when it was I started to lose control of this situation.

“Dale, I’ve wanted it for years. I’ve wanted you for years, and I was a fucking idiot to walk away.”

I don’t disagree and a shadow of doubt crosses his face, but he soldiers on.

“You’ve got every right to kick my ass out of here, but I couldn’t not tell you. All I can do is say I’m sorry--sorry for not doing this years ago, sorry for letting you think I didn’t care.”

Now, he’s way too close again and I can’t breathe. His eyes are so dark and burning into me and he’s laying it all out there. Everything I’ve wanted and needed and thought I’d never have.

“Martin, you won today, man. You’re still high from….”

He interrupts with a shake of his head. “Yes. I did win.”

Reaches out and wraps strong, warm fingers around my wrist. “Now I know I can be what you need, June. What you deserve.”

God. I close my eyes and think of a million reasons why this is a fucking bad idea.

Then, he breathes against my mouth, so soft and so full of truth.

“Please.”

~*~*~*~

I don’t know what else to do. His eyes are closed, he’s so still and tense, and it’s like time has stopped. All I can do is wait, and it’s the longest few minutes of my life.

And then finally, God, finally, he’s kissing me again and his arms are around me and I know that this is where I’m supposed to be.

His tongue is cold from the beer he was drinking. His muscles are solid under my hands. The stubble on his cheek rubs my neck when he kisses me there. His thighs are rock solid against mine.

It’s all so different and so right and so fucking good.

Then, he’s looking at me, laser blue eyes seeing all the way through me and leaving no room for anything but the truth.

He doesn’t even have to ask.

“I’m sure, Dale.”

Slight nod, like he’s closing the book on whatever doubts he’s had, and then he takes my hand and leads me towards the bedroom.

~*~*~*~

He doesn’t hesitate, just follows me to the back of the coach. I turn around quickly and kiss him again, maybe just to make sure he’s real and here, and then I ask him, because this has to be right.

“Martin, have you ever…?” 

Before I can get it out, he’s shaking his head. ”No. I was waiting for you, June.” I get a stupid kind of thrill out of that. 

Between kisses, cause I can’t seem to taste him enough, we manage to get undressed. And, I know he’s a guy and all, and it’s not the exact right word to use, but fuck, he’s beautiful. He makes me want to just wander around his body and explore. Which, is what I’d do if he’d just keep still, but that ain’t happening. Here I was worried about it being his first time and all, and he’s acting like he’s on the last lap at Daytona with Jeff Gordon riding his bumper. 

He’s putting his knees and elbows in all the wrong places but, hell, what he lacks in technique, he makes up for in enthusiasm and, if he keeps this up, I’m not gonna last long enough to make this something to remember.

And, I definitely want him to remember it.

So, I settle him down. Pin his legs still with mine, drag my hands down his body real slow, and kiss him like we’ve got all night. I discover some great things along the way, like the spot on his throat that makes him moan. The way he shivers when I lick along his collarbone. And, hey, when I bite his nipple? I just hope the guys in the coach next door are gone.

Who’d have thought quiet little Martin Truex was a howler? 

He smells like soap and expensive cologne and tastes like every good thing on the menu. He whispers my name when I kiss the hollow of his hips and I doubt I’ll ever forget that sound, ever.

By the time I reach my intended destination, I’m careful to hold him still when I put my mouth on him. I’m glad I did, cause that definitely got a reaction. And, I make it last as long as I can, backing off every time I think he’s just about there. Licking him and kissing him and sucking till he can’t make up his mind whether to cuss me or beg, so he does both. And, part of that’s for him, cause I want to make it good. But, mostly, it’s for me, cause I don’t want it to end. 

Finally, when I figure he’s gonna come or die, I take a deep breath, suck him down all the way, and he’s gone, and it’s the by God sweetest feeling ever. His hands are in my hair, he’s yelling my name, and no matter what happens with us now, I’ve had this. I’ve had him. I’m the only thing in his world right this minute, and that’s fine with me.

I sort of crawl back up his body and collapse. He’s trying like hell to catch his breath and not doing a very good job of it. He’s panting and sweating and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Then, he opens his eyes and looks over at me, sort of dazed looking.

“God. I never knew.”

Yeah. He’s gonna remember that.

“Whaddaya think I’ve been trying to tell you all this time, Trux?” I have to grin at him; he just looks so thoroughly blown and satisfied.

Then, he leans up on one elbow and lays a hand low on my belly, just inches away from dangerous real estate, and says the one thing I never expected.

“Fuck me.”

“Huh?” Well, hell that was smooth. I shake my head at him. “No, Martin….” 

I’m not finished, but all he heard was the ‘no’ part, and his face just sort of shuts down. He sits up with his back to me, reaching for his jeans.

“Sorry, I just thought….”

I’ve got to save this. I grab his arm and pull him back down beside me. “Listen to me, for once in your stubborn-ass life, will you?”

So, okay, he’s listening. Maybe. He’s still got that look on his face, but I’ll take what I can get.

“I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to do anything for me that you’re gonna regret later.” I shift slightly away when my cock rubs his leg. I can only take so much. I try to get my thoughts back together. “Wait till you’re ready. We’ve got time, babe.”

He seems to consider that for, oh, about a nanosecond. Then, he’s leaning over me again, wrapping his hand around me. I’m seeing stars, cause I’m way close by this time, and he’s got my attention.

“We’ve wasted time, babe.”

Holy fuck, is he gonna just take command of every goddamned situation? 

Course, that might be a good thing, but I can’t think about it now, or I’ll come for sure.

Then, he lets go and puts his hand on my face, so gentle and easy.

“June, I want this. I want you. I want it all. I’m not going to regret a damned thing, and I’ve been ready for years.”

Dammit. I can’t fight him when he’s like this.

I kiss him, quick like, and reach over to get what I need out of the night stand. He keeps his hand on my arm, and I don’t know whether he’s just grounding himself, or he thinks I’ll change my mind. When I’m laying beside him again, he watches while I slick up my fingers.

He’s so, so tight and I try to be easy, take it slow. He’s half hard again, and I suck on him a little while I open him up. It’s just a few minutes till he’s squirming around and making noises about “more” and “hurry up” and whatnot. Then, just to make him aware of who’s running this show, I crook my finger and that gets his attention.

And, again with the yelling. I’m gonna have to invest in some soundproofing.

But, he’s right. He needs this now, and I sure as hell do. He starts to turn over, but I don’t let him. I want to see his face. I want to know he’s okay with whatever I’m doing. I want to remember what he looks like when I’m inside him.

He lets me put his legs over my shoulders. He just watches me, trusting me completely and I make a promise to myself to work like hell to keep things that way. I get ready, toss the lube to the floor, and start to push into him, as slow as I can. God, he’s gonna kill me. I don’t ever remember being this hard or wanting anybody this much. I work my way into him and he’s watching me the whole time, his eyes so dark and intense, and I almost come just from that. I’m grinding my teeth and trying not to hurt him, but he starts pushing against me, tightening up around me. He wraps his legs around me and pulls me into him and then I’m balls deep and nothing has ever felt better, nothing.

I’m stroking into him deep now, over and over and, God, he’s amazing. Hair damp against his neck. Sweat running down his chest, the strength of his hips pushing back against me like he can’t get enough. I fuck him as hard and deep as I can and he meets me push for shove, all the while he’s running that pretty mouth of his, groaning and begging for harder, faster, more, till I come like I’ve never come before. Come till it hurts and it feels like it’s never gonna stop and I feel like I never want it to.

I do retain enough brain cells to pull out of him slow and easy, and then, I fall in a heap beside him. I may never fuck again. Hell, I may never move again.

It takes me a few minutes to get my breath, and then it hits me how quiet he is. He hasn’t moved a muscle or said a word and that worries me. But, when I raise my head and look over at him, he’s just watching me.

“You okay?”

He nods and smiles and it makes me want him again, right now.

“I just wish I hadn’t waited so long. I should have….”

I shut him up the best way I know how. Slow, lazy, post-fuck kisses.

“Don’t look back, Trux. We’ve lost enough time.”

He sighs and throws a muscle heavy leg over mine. Settles in and closes his eyes like he’s got nowhere else he’s got to be.

I guess this means he’s staying.

I guess this means he’s mine.

“What about now, what about today
What if you’re making me, all that I was meant to be
What if our love never went away
What if it’s lost behind, words we could never find,
Baby, before it’s too late

What about now?”………Chris Daughtry

These authors spend lots of time to write these stories. If you took the time to read this PLEASE take the time to give them some feedback. Happy writers write more ;-)

Gwen - gwen@cryptoffic.com