Anger Management

Home : Stories by MystikHeather : Dangerous Liaisons : Anger Management

Summary: Greg Biffle is furious after events in the Sharpie 500...until he finds release for that anger in unexpected places

AUTHOR: MystikHeather
EMAIL: mystikheather@cryptoffic.com
RATING: NC-17
CHARACTER: Jimmie Johnson/Greg Biffle, Jimmie Johnson/Jeff Gordon implied, Greg POV
SERIES: Dangerous Liaisons
CATEGORY: Smut
WORD COUNT: 2,277
DISCLAIMER: 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: I can't believe I actually wrote this pairing.
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After the Sharpie 500 at Bristol: August 27th, 2005

“Stupid motherfucker!  Goddamned fucking asshole!”  I kick over a set of tires as I storm back towards the hauler.  I haven’t been this pissed off since…fuck, it’s been months.  And I was doing so well there for a while.  And then he had to pull this shit again.   “Fucking bastard!” I yell, earning quite a few stares from the surrounding throng.  Lunging at them, I can’t help but laugh as they scattered like flies.  Predictable, all of them.  Oh, they love to get all up in your face with their microphones and their cameras, but the minute you show some anger….  Sure, I’m gonna pay for it in the form of a lovely little meeting with Helton, but I don’t give a shit right now.  Right now I’m riding this wave until it crashes.

I cannot believe he had the nerve to race me like that.  I mean, he was fucking how many laps down?  He didn’t get enough of it out of his system last night when he fucking parked his pansy car right in front of me on pit road?  Better believe I smiled when he got caught up in that little game Dale and Ryan were playing. 

“Hey!  Hold up a minute!”

I have to struggle to bite back a groan.  Last person I want to talk to right now is Jimmie fucking Johnson.  I turn impatiently, “Whatcha need, Jimmie.  I’m not really in the mood to talk right now.”  I can tell by the slight tightening around his eyes that I’ve failed to keep the irritation out of my voice.  But he’s been well trained, he won’t react to it. 

As predicted, he continues on.  “Just wanted to make sure you were ok.  Make sure you weren’t going to do anything stupid, like go after Kevin.”

“So who fucking appointed you my keeper?” I snarl.

His eyes widen in shock.  “Sorry for giving a shit.  Go dig your own fucking grave.”  Shooting me an evil look, he turns to walk away.

Fuck.  I am so not gonna take this fucking shit from him.  What the fuck does he know, anyway?  Fucking glare at me like that…

“Hey, Jimmie,” I call out, delighting in seeing him stop.  “Come back over here.”  There’s a hint of command in my voice, and it twists all sorts of things inside of me when he obeys. 

“What do you want?” he questions, he voice taking on a hard edge.  “I’ve got places to go, people who I actually give a shit about to see.”

We’ll see about that.  I scan his appearance…the early engine failure had given him plenty of time to get cleaned up.  That Levi Strauss sponsorship was really making an impact on the protégé’s wardrobe.  And not in a bad way.  Grinning, I ask, “You really wanna help me?  Keep me from doing something…what’d you say, stupid?”

I watch as he bites his lip, an unconscious gesture that shows up whenever he’s a little unsure of himself.  I’ve been around him enough to have picked up on a lot of those.  He also has a tendency to shift back and forth on his feet…like he’s doing now. 

“I just don’t wanna see you do something that you’re gonna regret over that prick.”

I stare at him for a long minute, watching him fidget.  Finally nodding, I turn and continue walking towards the hauler.  After about 10 steps, I turn back to see him still standing where I left him.  “Well?  You coming or not?”

I bite back a grin as I see him jump.  Jesus, who would have thought a man that worked for Jeff Gordon would be so damn…unsure of himself.  Glancing around, he starts after me.

I finally reach the hauler.  Not surprisingly, it’s jammed full of people – crew, media, and about 10 people I’ve never seen before in my life.  Shrugging, I embrace my newfound anger.  “Everybody get the fuck out!  You have two minutes!  I want the place to my fucking self for a while!”

“Greg?” Doug strides over to me, concern etched across his face.  “Everything ok?”

“I’m fine Doug,” I snap.  “I just want some fucking time to talk to Jimmie in private, before I lose it on someone.  Is that fucking ok?”

Doug puts his hands up, backing away.  “Whatever you say man, not a problem.  We’ll just go celebrate with the 17 team for a while.  “Guys!” he yells.  “Let’s go party with the DeWalt guys!  Greg needs a moment!”

I watch as everyone scrambles out.  They’d all been around long enough to recognize that I was a lit fuse.  Doug leans over with quiet instructions just before he leaves: “Try not to break anything that we’re gonna need later, ok?  And that includes Jimmie.”

I laugh.  “No worries, Doug.”

Jimmie has been hanging back, watching the entire thing with a slightly scared look on his face.  I walk over to him.  “Well, are you coming in or not?”

Shrugging, he follows me back inside, closing the door behind him.  “What did you have in mind?”

“What are you offering?”

“What are you needing?”

“Control.  Domination.  Release.  You willing to go that far?”

I watch him fidget, his cheeks reddening.  “I kinda thought this was going to go…that way…”

Damn.  I wouldn’t have thought that Jimmie would have been so…perceptive.  But then, his boss was a whore, so he’s probably had some experience at this.

“And?” I prod, stepping forward, invading his space.

He wants to back away from me, I can see that.  And he knows I can see it.  I watch him battle with himself, enjoying the turmoil.  Finally, holding his ground, he nods.

I push him back against the wall, hard enough for him to gasp.  “If you have any rules,” I growl, “Now’s the time.”

“No rules,” he gasps, as I lean down to nibble at his neck.  “Your game.”

“Oh, Jimmie,” I growl.  “I am going to have so much fun with you.”  I grind up against him, sliding a knee between his legs, feeling his hard body quiver beneath me.  I yank his arms up, pinning them over his head.  The position has him off balance, completely at my mercy.  I feel him strain against my hold, not to break it, just to test it. 

“Do you like being helpless, Jimmie?  Do you like letting someone else have complete control?”  I maintain my grip with one hand, as the other slips under his shirt.  I swallow his whimpers as I find a nipple and twist, hard.  He’s trembling beneath me, in pain, pleasure, desire, I don’t care.  I am going to have him screaming for me, for release, before I’m done with him.

Keeping him pinned against the wall, I lower my hand down to his waist.  I slip my hand in, and realize he’s not wearing any underwear, and that turns me on even more.  Growling appreciatively, I move hard against him, feeling him already hard against me.  “Do you always walk around like this Jimmie?  Ready so that someone can take you at a moments notice?  Do you bend over for anyone that asks?  Or only a select few?  Does your boss tell you who, when, how?  Does he tell you when you can come?  Does he talk dirty to you?  Does he keep you aching and wanting and begging for release?”

Lowering his zipper, I pull him out.  Stroking roughly, I bend down and take a nipple in my mouth.  His moans are exciting me, making me want to hear more.  I gently bite down on the small nub, teasing it with my tongue and my teeth, all the while stroking.  I feel his knees shake, and know that my grip on his arms and my knee between his legs is all that’s keeping him on his feet.

Grinning, I withdraw the support of my knee, watching as he falls to his knees on the floor in front of me, his hands still held over his head.  “Well, since you’re already down there,” I growl, lowering my zipper and pulling myself out.   I run myself along his lips, thrusting forward, until he has no choice but to let me in.  “I knew your mouth had to be good for something,” I groan, thrusting in deep until I feel the back of his throat.  He’s tight and wet and I almost lose it as I feel him swallow around me, working his throat muscles to draw me in deeper.

I thrust harder and deeper and faster, watching as he struggles to find a breath, knowing I’m going too fast for him to get one.  He strains against me, beginning to panic, but his position allows no leverage.  Finally, as his eyes begin to glaze, I find my release, spilling down his throat.  I hold him there, against the wall, forcing him to swallow every drop, before pulling away and letting him collapse to the floor, gasping, eyes tearing.

“That was nice, Jimmie,” I grin, watching him struggle to catch his breath.  “Obviously you’ve had some…practice in that field.”

“Shut the fuck up, Greg,” he spits out.  “This wasn’t about me, it was about you.”  He struggled into a sitting position.  “Now, are we done here?”

“Oh, no, Jimmie,” I snarl, forcing down my irritation.  “That was just the appetizer.  I’m ready for the main course now.”  Throwing my shirt off, I snarl, “Now be a good little boy and get your fucking clothes off.”

He looks up at me, slight shock evident on his face, but he follows my instructions which is all I care about.  He stands there as I admire his lean, cut form, eyes raking across his chest, then lower.  Tossing away my own pants, I lunge at him, turning him around and pushing him down over the arm of the couch.

“I am going to pound you until you can’t walk straight, what do you think of that?”  I shove two fingers into his body, hard and fast, until he’s writhing and begging beneath me.  His whispered pleas are more than I can take, and before I really know what I’m doing, I’m slamming myself into his unresisting body.

I pound into him, every thrust causing him to grind into the couch.  He’s hot and tight, and his whimpers just drive me on.  Pausing, I pull out, repositioning him so most of his body was lying flat on the couch, his ass forced high in the air.  Driving back in at the new angle, I scrape across his prostrate with every thrust.

He’s moaning, whimpering, clawing at the couch.  “Beg me for it, Jimmie, I want to hear you beg,” I command, rocking his body with my thrusts.

“Please Greg, please god please…” he pleads.

“I love having you at my fucking mercy,” I growl.  Grabbing his hips hard enough to leave bruises, I pull him back to meet my violent thrusts.  I don’t know which one of us came first, all I know is that suddenly my body is exploding, filling him, forcing the anger out of my body.

I lay there against his quivering body, trying to get my breath back.  I grin when I hear him trying to do the same.  “Tell me, Jimmie, did I rock your world?”

The only response I get from him is a groan.  Chuckling, I move off of him, slipping smoothly from his body.  Glancing around, I find an extra towel on a cabinet.  I use it to clean myself off, then throw it over to the couch where Jimmie was struggling to stand.

“You’re a good fuck, Johnson.  I’m feeling much calmer now.  Now, get yourself cleaned up, and get the fuck out of here.”

He glares at me, and if I had more time I would have taken him again right there.  Wipe that look right off his face.  I think he knew it too, read it in my eyes, because he was suddenly submissive again.  Dropping his eyes, he reaches for the towel, using it to clean the mess of his own release off his stomach.

I watch him drop the soiled towel in the trash, then look around for his clothes.  I grin as he comes to the realization that they were underneath my feet, that this game was not yet over.  “Are you looking for these?” I ask, lifting a pant leg with my foot.

He sighs.  “May I have my clothes please, Greg?”

I can’t stop the dark grin that flashes across my face.  “Come and get them,” I taunt.  “Wait.”  I stop him as he takes a step towards me.  Motioning to the floor, I clarify, “I want you to crawl on the floor like the bitch that you are.”

Ah, there’s that flash of fire back.  I thought at first that maybe he would refuse…but, he’s been trained too well I suppose.  A quick glare, and then he’s on his knees crawling towards me.  When he reaches me, he sits back on his heels, simply waiting, eyes on the floor.

“Good boy,” I whisper.  Stepping back, I let him gather his clothes and dress.  Just as he’s about to walk out the front door, I grab his arm, swinging him around to look at me.  “You’re better than I thought you would be, Johnson.  I’ll have to…petition Jeff for your services in the future.”

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls out of my grasp and walks out.  Watching him walk out into the night, I come to a decision – I was going to have him again, soon.  And it was going to be for more than an hour.

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MystikHeather - mystikheather@cryptoffic.com