Inked

Home : Stories by Mick : Inked

Summary: After a night of Celebrity Poker, Jeff is “influenced” by a certain rockstar.

AUTHOR: Mick
EMAIL: mick@cryptoffic.com
RATING: NC-17, for M/M Slashy Goodness
CHARACTER: Jeff Gordon/Dave Navarro, Jeff POV
CATEGORY: Smut
DISCLAIMER: If I owned them, I’d be too busy to write this. It’s fiction, go with it. 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 is sort of an AU pairing…Jeff Gordon and Dave Navarro. My Jeff Bunnie got demanding after I watched the Bravo Celeb Poker Showdown and wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote this.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Dedicated to mah Ashlev, who feels it necessary to send me pictures of Gordo in black shirts and tight jeans…and a constant flow of Dave Navarro in his sex-ridden goodness, whose input of :-D is all I need to know she loved it.
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Itching. Constant itching. Yet I can’t do anything about it. What kind of a moron am I that I actually listened to Dave Navarro when he told me it’d be fun to get a tattoo? Since when am I stupid enough to listen to a rockstar when he tells me to do something? I know I’ve done some pretty idiotic things in my life, but this one just takes the cake. I’m Jeff Gordon, the clean-cut-do-what-I’m-told-sponsor-pleaser. I don’t go out and get tattoos on a whim with a fucking ROCKSTAR. I blame this on Bravo. If they hadn’t invited me to that damn poker tournament, I never would have met him in the first place.

I could blame this on Jimmie, too. Jimmie, who decided he’d rather stay home that weekend than come with me to Las Vegas for that tournament. He said he had some sponsor stuff to do and wanted to hang out with Chad for a while. Not that I believed him for a minute. I won’t blame it on him though, even though if he HAD been there, it would’ve been easier for me to turn down Dave. All Jimmie has to do is look at me and everything else is easy to turn down. That’s just the way it is with him.

There’s also the massive amount of White Russians I consumed during the course of that thing. I sat down and watched the show one day when it reaired for the thousandth time and couldn’t believe how sober I looked. If they’d only known that the room was spinning by the time I walked off to the loser’s lounge. Hell, I must’ve had at least four refills by the time I got there, and then another two or three while I waited for the game to end. My mind was just a bit distorted when Dave came over and asked me if I wanted to hang out for a while. I was too drunk to realize hanging out meant getting inked.

That’s a lie though. Those White Russians were way too weak to get me anything more than buzzed. I had complete control of my senses when Dave asked me to hang out. When we walked into the tattoo parlor in the casino, I figured I’d just talk to him while he got whatever it was branded into his skin and then we’d go for some drinks. Then he nudged me and gave me that devious rocker-smile and asked me what I was going to get. I almost fell down onto the floor laughing until I realized he was dead serious. I tried explaining to him that NASCAR has a policy about tattoos showing on drivers and how I’m not much for altering my body but he just laughed at me and told me there were plenty of places NASCAR would never see and that I wasn’t altering my body, I was just decorating. He made it hard to say no, seeing as he found a rebuttal to every excuse I came up with.

It took him forty-five minutes, but I finally cracked. He told me to look around at all the artwork on the walls and find something I liked. For a brief moment, I pondered taking off while he was in the artist’s chair with the needle buzzing along his skin, but then something snapped in my mind. The more I looked at all the artwork, the more I wanted to get a tattoo. Jimmie would have a heart attack when he saw it, and it’d be something to show off at the shop. It’d be something so out of the blue it’d knock everyone on their asses and it’d been way too long since I’d done something so out of the ordinary that everyone’s jaw dropped. I started to get excited about the thought of getting a tattoo.

By the time Dave was done, I’d found two or three drawings that I really liked. One was just a simple cross, which suited me just fine, but he shot it down. Told me it was too plain and that I needed something really out-there for my first tattoo. I shrugged and let him drag me around to show me the ones he liked. It turned out that he pointed to a design I’d been mulling over so we both agreed I’d go for it. The next question was where would I have the design etched into my skin. My arms and legs were out of the question, because I’d never be able to wear shorts or t-shirts ever again. He mentioned my lower back but the thought of a needle jabbing into my spine scared the crap out of me. I finally decided I’d get it on my stomach, just above my left hip bone and he’d smirked at me like he knew something I didn’t. When I asked him what the look was for, he’d just shook his head at me and called over the artist who’d taken care of him.

After getting the drawing copied over onto a piece of paper and going through the motions of picking a size and where exactly I wanted it, the artist transferred the ink onto my skin as a sort of stencil for him to go by. My heart was racing by this point and I was doing my best to keep my composure. I glanced over at Dave and caught his eyes trailing across my chest- I’d had to take my shirt off- and I could feel the goose bumps rising on my skin. He had the same glint in his eyes that Jimmie gets every time he undresses me. I smirked to myself at that thought, but it faded quickly as I heard the buzzing from the needle. My head whipped around and my eyes widened when I saw the monstrosity in the artist’s hand. He laughed at me and told me it looked a lot worse than it actually was, but before I could think of a response, he was lowering it to my skin.

I jumped and cursed loudly at the first touch of the needle to my skin and then glared over at Dave when he started laughing nonetooquietly. He laughed harder as my glare turned into a look of pain as the needle started moving to stencil out the drawing and I gave up trying to look menacing. I’d been told by numerous people that tattoos didn’t hurt, that they were just irritating, but all those people were a bunch of fucking liars. I could feel myself getting lightheaded as the buzzing and sticking wore on and I sighed in relief when the artist picked the needle up to put more ink in. He glanced over at me and asked if I wanted anything--a lollipop or a glass of soda--to get my blood sugar up so I wouldn’t pass out. I somehow managed to croak out that a Pepsi sounded like a good idea and a moment later Dave was in the room handing me a bottle with a straw poking out. He patted my chest and informed me that it happened to a lot of people. I arched an eyebrow at him as I leaned up on my elbow and took the bottle from him, knocking the straw to the side to take a long swig and he said simply, “Passing out.”

After several moments of regaining my composure and licking my wounded pride, I laid back down on the table I’d been perched on and the artist went back to work. Now that I knew what I was up against, I was able to block out some of what was going on and dull my senses a bit. I started thinking of other things, like Jimmie, and racing, and what people would say when they saw the tattoo I’d gotten. I stole a glance at Dave and saw his eyes following the needle as it dragged along my skin. He was outside the room again, leaning on the sill of the viewing window looking all the part of “Rock and Roll Sex God”. His hair, which had been gelled back and staying firmly in place during the poker game, was starting to fall and a few strands were draped over his eye. He would lick his lips randomly as he watched the artist work, like it was all a big turn-on for him.

That’s when I noticed the fact that a familiar ache had started to form between my legs. I bit down on my lip as the artist finished up another line and said a silent string of curses in my head. I couldn’t believe I was getting turned on through all of this. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the growing hardness in my jeans and attempted to convince myself it was just from adrenaline. Hell, there wasn’t a race that went by that I didn’t get turned on from the adrenaline pumping through my body. I started thinking of random stats to try and rid myself of the unwanted hard-on but it didn’t help in the least. As the buzzing started up again I could feel the muscles in my groin tighten more and I knew that in a few more moments there’d be a completely noticeable bulge in my pants and the zipper would be digging into overly sensitive flesh.

After nearly half an hour of buzzing, pricking, and irritation, the artist pulled back and put the needle down on the tray next to him. I glanced down to look at my hip and grimaced when I saw the mess before me. Ink and blood were caked up in places and the flesh around it was a brilliant puffy-red. He splashed some rubbing alcohol onto a paper towel and started dabbing at the design, cleaning off the extra ink and blood and I sighed in relief when the design came into view. It didn’t look half bad. I glanced over at Dave to get his reaction, but his eyes weren’t on my hip. Instead, they were looking lower, practically glued to the obvious state of things in my pants. I could feel myself turning a deep shade of red and quickly looked away from him, trying my best to shift around.

The artist slid away from the table and told me he was going to take a cigarette break before he started coloring the design in and patted my leg, telling me I could get up and walk around for a bit if I wanted. He walked out of the room as he pulled a pack of cigs from his shirt pocket and Dave walked in, sitting down on his stool. I started to pull myself into a sitting position but stopped midway and gasped when a sudden soreness shot through me and I quickly dropped back onto the table.

Dave frowned and then laughed softly, “Yeah, you may not want to move just yet. It’s going to be sore as hell for a while.”

I glared at him, or tried to, and muttered, “Thanks for telling me that NOW.”

He stood up and slid an arm around my shoulders, pulling me up into a sitting position before quickly tugging me off the table. I stumbled and bumped into him, luckily with my right side and not my left. He smirked and patted my back, “Better now?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I took a step back and leaned against the table for a moment before walking across the room to look at myself in the full length mirror hanging on the wall. The tattoo didn’t look half bad, in fact, I kind of liked it. I studied it for a moment, how it fell just above the waist of my jeans, almost resting on my hipbone. I glanced up as Dave came up behind me, his chest brushing seductively against my back, sending a shiver up my spine. He rested his chin on my shoulder and caught my gaze in the mirror, my blue eyes meeting his almost black ones. His hands found my hips and he turned toward my ear slightly, still holding my gaze in the mirror as he whispered huskily, “It’s a complete turn on, isn’t it? The pain, the adrenaline, seeing something so sexy being formed on your body?”

I bit down on my lip as he leaned in closer to me, pressing himself a little harder against me and I could feel the erection in his tight leather pants pressing against the small of my back. As I was trying to come up with a reply, something to convince him I wasn’t as turned on as I actually was, the artist walked back in and announced he was ready to color in my tattoo. I sighed in relief and made my way back over to the table, attempting to lay back down without killing myself. Of course, thanks to Dave the tent in my pants had only gotten bigger and it was embarrassing as hell.

Nearly forty-five painstaking minutes later, my tattoo was completely colored in and I was free to go. The tattoo artist handed me a paper with care instructions on it before cleaning it up a bit and slathering some ointment on it. He covered it up with a makeshift bandage made of paper towel and tape and tossed my shirt to me, which I barely managed to get back on on my own. The soreness in my stomach had only intensified as the coloring process wore on and it was a task just to sit and stand. He assured me I’d be fine by morning and I nodded slightly, handing him a roll of bills for the fee and tip.

As I walked out of the parlor, Dave was dangerously close to me, asking what I thought of my first tattoo experience. He rested an arm around my shoulders, looking for all the world like two pals just hanging out in a casino but I could feel the heat coming off his body, the tension built up between us, and the obvious state of arousal we were both enveloped in. I shrugged slightly, picking up my pace a little as I informed him it was more than likely my first and last. That had been the longest two hours of my life and I had no desire to repeat it. He smirked and told me I’d change my mind sooner or later, that tattoos were far too addicting to stop after the first one.

I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were going until we were in an elevator and Dave was sliding his room key into the slot on the floor panel and hitting a button for one of the higher rooms. I raised an eyebrow at him, asking him where exactly where we were headed and he gave me that rocker-smile again.

“After an experience like that, it’d be a shame not to get trashed and glue some furniture to the ceiling.” The elevator doors opened and he walked out ahead of me, tossing a look over his shoulder at me.

“You’re kidding right? I am NOT trashing a hotel room, I don’t care how shitfaced you get me. If NASCAR found out I’d be--”

“Are you ALWAYS this much of a tightass?”

I stopped in my tracks and gawked at him, not believing he’d just had the nerve to call me a tightass. He barely knew me. Hell, he’d just convinced me to get a tattoo and sat there to watch the entire process. I think that pretty much proved I was anything but. He laughed and rolled his eyes as he unlocked a door which obviously led to his room and insisted he was only teasing.

“You’re just saying that to get me in your hotel room so you can try and have your way with me.”

Now it was his turn to gawk at me. I gave him a triumphant grin and brushed passed him into his room, taking a quick survey of my surroundings. It looked just like any other hotel room. A huge king size bed sat in the center of the room, there was a desk, an armchair, a dresser with a TV on it, and a minifridge which I was sure was stocked full of whatever alcohol and foods he’d asked for. I heard the door click closed behind me and two hands pressed against my hips again. I felt his chin on my shoulder and the image of us from the tattoo parlor flashed through my head as he whispered into my ear again, his lips brushing against it as he did.

“Does this mean you’re gonna let me in those pants, Mr. Gordon?”

A familiar shiver ran down my spine and my hands rested over his as I leaned my head back to look up at him. With a smirk I half-kidded, “Long as you don’t tell my boyfriend.”

He raised an eyebrow, “And here I was thinking you were a straightedge, hardcore Christian boy who eats his wheeties every morning and says his prayers every night.”

I frowned and pulled away from him, turning to face him with my hands on my hips, “That’s not funny.”

“I was serious,”

“…oh,” I studied his face for a moment and decided he was telling the truth. Not a hint of a smile was on his lips, and his normally playful eyes were set on mine in a hard gaze. He made me nervous, in a good way, and I could feel myself getting more and more turned on under his scrutiny, which scared the shit out of me. I’ve never denied liking guys, but Dave was so far from my type, so far out of my league, that it just seemed wrong. Not that I’d admit to that.

He took a step toward me and I backed up slightly as his eyes locked on mine, “Do I scare you, Jeff?”

“A little.” Ok, so I lied.

He smirked and moved in toward me, backing me up until I was pressed flush against the wall at the opposite end of the room. He moved in on me until we were only centimeters apart, his hands resting on the wall on either side of my neck. My pulse sped up and my breathing got shallow as I looked up at him, balling my sweaty hands into fists at my sides. I couldn’t believe it was possible for me to be this turned on by a guy like Dave. He was covered in tattoos and hair gel and piercings and he was so…so…NOT Jimmie.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Jeffery?” He bent his head down slightly so our lips were a nanosecond away from touching, “You thinking about what it’d be like to get fucked by a rockstar? What it’d be like to be a bad boy for once, and not such a goodygoody? Wondering what your boyfriend would think if he found out?”

Oh good Christ, I couldn’t take much more. I whimpered softly, biting down hard on my lip as my body trembled. I wanted nothing more than for him to throw me down on the bed and have his way with me. Hell, I’d even settle for him turning me around and pinning me against the wall and fucking me right there. It didn’t matter. In an act of complete boldness that I mustered up from somewhere deep inside me, I reached up and gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in against me as I tilted my head up and pressed my lips to his. He hesitated only a moment before pressing himself hard against me, returning my kiss hungrily as one of his hands tangled itself in my hair, pulling on it hard.

After a long moment he pulled away and smirked at me, dropping his hand from my scalp to my shoulder. He cocked an eyebrow at me and laughed softly, informing me I was a far better kisser than he’d expected. I laughed in reply and said he pretty much lived up to my standards. Several seconds later I found myself face up on the bed. He stood at the foot of it, slowly pulling his shirt off to reveal a chest and abdomen covered in ink and two glinting nipple rings and I licked my lips as my eyes trailed along his body.

He climbed up onto the bed, crawling his way over me and I could feel every nerve in my body burning as he leaned down to kiss me again. My hands slid around to his back, nails dragging down slowly and he arched into my touch as his lips made their way down my jaw to my neck, my neck to my collarbone before pulling away and leaning back to look down at me. His fingers slid around the hem of my shirt and he pulled it up slowly, tugging it off as I attempted to sit up only to hiss in pain. He smirked at me and the fact that I’d already forgotten about the bandaged tattoo on my hip as he tossed my shirt to the side and went to work on my jeans.

As the button snapped open and the zipper came undone I sighed softly, glad to have a bit of relief from the constricting material. He shifted around, getting up off the bed as he tugged my pants off, pulling my boxers down with them before yanking my shoes off so he could shove everything to the ground. He locked his eyes on mine as he started unfastening his own pants and I watched in amazement as he kicked out of the seemingly glued on leather. I trailed my eyes over his body, taking in every detail possible as he smirked at me, asking if I saw something I liked. I pushed myself up a bit, resting back on my elbows and gave him a smirk of my own, replying with, “Something like that.”

In a blink of an eye he was back on the bed, kissing me again but with much more need this time. He pressed his body hard against mine as he straddled my hips, pressing his erection hard against my own. I moaned deep in my throat and arched against him, lifting my hips up to meet him. He gasped against my lips at my seemingly bold actions and pulled back a little, “Weren’t lying about that boyfriend, were you?”

I laughed and shook my head, “Ever heard of Jimmie Johnson?”

He raised an eyebrow, “No shit.”

“Not in the least.”

He shifted over so he could reach in a drawer of the nightstand next to us and I watched as he pulled out a familiar looking tube and a foil packet. I smirked at him, refusing to admit that it actually surprised me to see him using condoms. He winked at me as he tore it open and slid it into my hand, “I’m assuming they taught you how to use these back in high school.”

“Never seen one in my life,” I snickered and trailed my fingers over his shaft as I slid the rubber over him, watching as he bit down on his lip, trying to fight back a moan. My snicker quickly turned into a moan of my own as I felt a slicked finger press into me, followed quickly by another. My task complete, my hands dropped down to the comforter and twisted it in my hands as he pumped his fingers into me slowly.

A moment later his fingers were replaced with the head of his shaft and I tightened my grip on the comforter a bit in anticipation. I wanted nothing more than for him to fuck me through the mattress but he apparently didn’t see things my way as he worked himself into me slowly, his hands on my hips keeping me from moving against him. I moaned softly as he slid into me, and grinded his hips against mine. I lifted my eyes up to meet his and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, digging my nails into his skin hard.

“Dave I swear to god if you don’t cut the teasing and fuck me, I’m going to--OH FUCK.” My threat got cut off as he pulled out of me and slammed back in hard. Without missing a beat he started thrusting hard into me, his hips rocking against mine quickly. I gasped and moaned loudly, arching against him as I bucked my hips up to meet his thrusts. He buried his face in my neck, biting and sucking hard as he pounded into me, a hand snaking between us to wrap tightly around my shaft and stroke me in time with his thrusts. I dragged my nails down his back as I arched into him, panting into his ear, begging him for more.

“Fuck, right there…oh god don’t stop….” I bit down on his earlobe and he moaned, bucking his hips harder as he stroked me faster. I could feel every muscle in my body tensing as he worked himself against me and my veins pumped fire through my body. I could feel him starting to tense up as well and whimpered, “Let it go, Dave. Fuck me…make me come….”

As if he’d been waiting for an invite or an ok, he let out a moan that sounded more like a growl and pressed himself into me harder, pounding into me and stroking me faster causing me to arch up off the bed trying to match his motions. In seconds we were both tumbling over the edge, coming together in a massive ball of sweat, moans, and shaking so badly we could barely breathe. He collapsed on top of me, panting heavily as I listened to my heart pounding in my ears. He pulled out of me a moment later and rolled onto his back, our legs still somewhat tangled together.

He glanced over at me as he took several deep breaths and smirked as our eyes met. I took a few deep breaths of my own and ran a hand through my hair as I calmed myself down before mumbling, “That was fuckin’ incredible.”

I wound up spending the night in his hotel room, repeating our performance several times before we both passed out from sheer exhaustion. Our sleep got cut short by a five AM wake up call, which left us both scrambling for clothes and belongings, trying to get ourselves back together. I still had to make my way back to the Hard Rock Hotel, several blocks away so I could pack my stuff and make a 6:45 flight to Mooresville. We exchanged numbers and said a hasty “See you later,” as I ran out the door and rushed to find a cab to bring me to my own hotel.

Hours later I was sitting on a plane to North Carolina, about to fall asleep when a stinging pain in my hip jolted me awake. Fuck. My tattoo. Its existence had gone unnoticed since the moment I’d stepped foot into Dave’s hotel room the night before and I suddenly remembered that I’d needed to clean it and toss the bandage much earlier on in the day. I stood up and made my way to the tiny airplane bathroom in the first class section I was sitting in and pulled the door open, maneuvering my way in. With a bit of effort I managed to pull off my shirt and slowly peeled the tape off my skin, grimacing as it fought to stay in place. I balled up the paper towel and shoved it into the garbage before looking at my tattoo in the mirror. It was caked with dried up blood and bits of ink, making it look far less than attractive. I pulled some paper towels from the dispenser and wet them before gingerly dabbing at the design, managing to clean it without killing myself. I had nothing to put over it so I shrugged slightly and made a mental note to pick up some neosporin on my way home before pulling my shirt back on and heading back to my seat.

By the time the plane landed I’d managed to get several hours of sleep and was back to feeling somewhat human. I made my way into the airport and smiled when I saw Jimmie waiting for me in baggage claim. He drove me home and stayed for a little while as I regaled him with stories of my Sin City trip, leaving out the part about “hanging out” with Dave after the poker tournament.

It’s been a week since that night and all I can think about is the constant itching at my left hip. The instructions mentioned itching during the healing process, but this is ridiculous and it’s all I can do not to claw my skin off. I sigh softly as I slouch back in my office chair, digging my nails into the arms to avoid scratching. The night after I came home, Jimmie and I had met up and gone back to his place for a night of catching up, but the moment he took my shirt off and caught sight of my tattoo, all plans went out the window. I’d forced myself to tell him the whole story of what had happened and he’d been less than thrilled. In fact, he kicked me out of the house. Part of me feels like shit for cheating on him, but the other half can’t help but laugh. Who’d have thought that me, Jeff “Stick-Up-The-Ass” Gordon, would have ever fucked Dave Navarro and come home with a tattoo to boot?

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Mick - mick@cryptoffic.com