Need

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Summary: Sometimes it’s just about what you need.

AUTHOR: MystikHeather
EMAIL: mystikheather@cryptoffic.com
RATING: NC-17
CHARACTERS: Chad Knaus/Michael Waltrip, Chad POV
WORD COUNT: 1,231
DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don’t own 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: Written for Yuletide 2008.
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This relationship, if you could even call it that, is so completely wrong on so many levels.  But sometimes decisions aren’t based on right or wrong.  No, they’re based on what someone needs at a given moment, and who or what they can find to help to satisfy those needs.  No emotions or affairs of the heart to complicate things.  Such is the basis of this particular partnership.

He’s not always the carefree goofball that the world sees on television, or hears on the radio shows.  No, he has a very split personality, the fun and games reserved for the general public, the dark and serious side reserved for when the camera and microphones are off.  I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised the first time I saw his eyes turn from playful to piercing.  After all, the class clown is very rarely successful at building a business such as a three-team Cup series operation from scratch. 

I was using him.  He knew it and I knew it and I don’t think either one of us cared because he was using me too.  I don’t know for what, I’ve never bothered to ask.  I’ve justified it in my mind as better to use him than someone else.  Someone that I actually cared about, and didn’t want to hurt.

Better to use him than Jimmie, like I came so close to doing earlier this year in Phoenix.  Both of us drunk, Channy already turned in for the night and suddenly I had him pressed back against the wall, my body flush against his.  My lips were so close to his and it was his startled eyes that rocked me back on my heels, forcing me to take a step back.  I apologized profusely and then nearly ran from the room in my haste to hide the embarrassment flushed on my cheeks.  All I could do was hope that none of the guys had seen what had just happened, had witnessed my complete loss of control. 

I’m not even really sure how this particular partnership had started.  I just remember being incredibly tense after that night in Chicago, the night that Kyle stole our win on the last restart with his aggressive antics.  I think Michael was being his usual playful self and between takes I finally snapped at him, pushing his hand away from my leg and kicking at the table, sending coffee cups full of water spilling to the floor.  I remember the shocked look on Steve’s face as I got up and stalked away, barking at the director that I needed a few minutes.

Twenty minutes later and I was still in my small closet of a dressing room, brooding.  Apparently Michael was the one sent to find out what was going on, or maybe he took it upon himself.  I never asked.  Regardless, he popped his head inside of the room, then stepped in and shut the door behind him.  He leaned against it, crossing his arms and those incredible long legs.  I don’t know why I never realized just how tall he was before.  Maybe it’s because you don’t truly appreciate how tall someone is until you’re sitting down, staring up at them. 

“What’s the matter with you Chad?” he asked point blank.  “You’ve been moodier than a PMS-ing teenager.  You need to get laid or something?”

My mouth dropped open at his words, so startled that I actually went ahead and gave him an honest answer.  “Yes.”

I drew in a quick breath as he moved closer still, forcing me to crane my neck back to stare up at him.  My hands tightened on the arms of the chair I was sitting in as he bent over me, his lips brushing across my ear.  “Need to get laid?  Or need to get fucked.”

I must have said yes or made some motion of agreement because suddenly his lips were on mine and his hands were in my pants, his voice a low growl in my ear.  “Too bad we don’t have time for that…”

He had me jerked off with an almost methodical precision, covering my mouth with his when I thrust up and cried out my release.  There was a smirk on his face as he pulled back, wiping his hand off with a towel he’d picked up somewhere before he tossed it at me. 

“Be here two hours before taping next week,” he murmured as he left the room. 

Getting through the rest of the show that day was hard, the rest of the week even harder.  I went through stages of denial, anger, and apprehension, and finally anticipation.  It’s the last emotion that had me there in my dressing room even earlier than he instructed.  And that time I had let him take my body, and bring me to release in a way I had needed for a long time. 

Now it’s almost become a ritual.  Every week we’re both scheduled to be on set, we meet in my dressing room two hours early and today is no different.  Strip out of our pants and he lifts me to sit on the small countertop that I’ve cleared off.  Later I’ll replace the small bottles of hair gel and toothpaste and makeup but for now it puts me at the perfect height for what we need.  He plants his hands on either side of me and after minimal preparation thrusts into me. 

Today Michael seems to have a bit more energy.  I don’t know why, but I don’t ever ask questions.  Neither does he.  It’s an unspoken rule that we simply take what we need from each other’s bodies. 

His thrusts are particularly rough, causing a soft groan to escape my lips.  He presses his hand tight over my mouth to muffle the sound and then thrusts harder, deeper.  Something must be bothering him, or he has something important to do later because he isn’t usually this aggressive.  But it’s fine…he has needs too.

Drop my hand to my aching length and stroke myself hard and fast, because this isn’t about anything but reaching that point where the pleasure breaks over me.  Eyelids fluttering and my breaths come faster and faster as I see that expression on his face that says he’s close as well. 

Close my eyes tightly and imagine that it’s someone else moving inside of me, someone else taking me, and that’s when my body reaches that peak.  My cry of pleasure muffled as his hand presses harder over my mouth, his own groan telling me that he’s found his release too.  Pant softly as I slump back against the mirror behind me, trying to catch my breath as he pulls out of me, pulling the condom off and disposing it in the trashcan. 

Open my eyes again as I hear him zipping his pants up, and run a hand through my hair as I slip off of the countertop he’d set me on.  Grab the package of antibacterial wipes from their hiding place in the drawer, pull one out and clean myself off.  Straighten my clothes and grab another wipe to clean off my hands as he slips through the door, closing it softly behind him.  No words between us because words aren’t necessary.  Because this isn’t a relationship.  This isn’t about love or lust or wanting.  This is about need.

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MystikHeather - mystikheather@cryptoffic.com