Self-Medicate

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Summary: Inspection woes cause Jimmie to miss qualifying. Can anyone cheer him up?

AUTHOR: Samantha
EMAIL: oklahomie00@yahoo.com
RATING: NC-17
CHARACTER: Jimmie Johnson/Jeff Gordon, Jimmie POV
CATEGORY: Shameless smut, throw in some angst. Also, sugary-sweet.
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 help it, my Jeff and Jimmie bunnies were going insane after qualifying today. I had to, you know, let them out. And because the My Chemical Romance song "Demolition Lovers" is not only bitchin’, but also matches up with my favorite pair quite nicely. Enjoy!
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"Hand in mine, into your icy blues
And then I'd say to you we could take to the highway
With this trunk of ammunition too
I'd end my days with you in a hail of bullets
I'm trying, I'm trying
To let you know just how much you mean to me
And after all the things we put each other through and
I would drive on to the end with you
A liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full
And I feel like there's nothing left to do
But prove myself to you and we'll keep it running"

I’m running over to the garage. I probably look like such a dork, booking it over to my car to see what the hold-up is, but at this point it would look worse to just stand around pit road without a car. As I arrive, I can see we’re still in inspection, which is new to me. Why would they take this long? I jog over to Chad, the cameras staying an obligatory 20-something feet away. He does not look happy. "I don’t know what the deal is, god damnit. This is just ridiculous." At this, he peeks over my shoulder to glare at an inspector. "This is just ridiculous…"

I stand next to the car for what feels like forever, hovering, hoping to shock some sense into the portly man disassembling my car. He pays no attention to me, instead wiping his brow. Sigh. This will take a while.

Chad is still throwing a fit, bitching quietly to several members of the pit crew. I don’t really want to talk to him right now, not from the horrified expressions I see on the rear-tire changer. I attempt to rest against the car, but the female inspector shoos me away with a quick hand movement.

So I stand against the wall. And I wait. And wait. And wait. I wait so long I think qualifying must be over, but then I hear a car. I wish I had a watch at this point so badly, and think to ask Jeff why we can’t. Jeff. I haven’t seen much of him since I married Malibu Barbie, but every time I do, he likes to make sure I remember it. Last night was one of them. I blush at the memory of his strong kisses, his passionate touches. The way he whispers my name. I dismiss them quickly, feeling myself getting aroused. Now is possibly the worst time ever.

Suddenly, the male inspector walks over to Chad, muttering something and showing him his clipboard. Chad curses loudly and I already understand, even as he’s stomping over to me, yelling "Everyone, get your asses over there and fix that goddamn rear-axle chain, I need it loose! Now!" With that, the crew sprang to action, scrambling like it was a pit stop. Chad shook his head. "We’re never gonna make it."

And, because Chad’s a psychic, we didn’t.

I didn’t get to qualify. I’ll be moved to the back of the pack tomorrow. Goddamn it. No practice, and no qualifying, and to top it all off, nobody has ever won Indy by more than 15 back. Tomorrow will not be a good day.

I don’t know where else to go, but since I want to hit someone, and indeed might, I go back to my motorcoach. TNT loved following me back, though. I had to fight every urge to choke that cameraman with the cable.

To my complete surprise, Jeff is there. He’s sitting on my couch, a bag of pretzels sitting in his ever-so-apparent lap. He’s watching Batman on TBS, then hears the door spring back, so he look up at me.

"Well, hey, outlaw. Trying to fix your car to beat me?"

God, he’s sexy. I can’t even help myself, I’m like a puddle when Jeff comes around. I sit next to him, containing myself to not glomp him on the spot. He has on his fire suit, a definite plus for me. You can’t look bad in those things. He suddenly realizes his surroundings and goes, "Oh, hey, do you mind me being here?" I shake my head like the intense lovelorn schoolgirl I am channeling. He smiles at my kindness, the kind of off-hand politeness most everyone in the world posses, but I decide to let it be personal. His sincerity is not ingrained in him, but rather something he does to appease me.

I am a dork.

"How’d it end up you didn’t get to qualify?" Jeff asks, eyes glued to the screen.

"We didn’t beat the five-minute rule. We even had the car all fixed, but by then, we still had inspection, so…" Jeff nods sagely, looking at me with the type smile I feel comes pre-arranged. The kind of smile you put on for a cancer patient, the one that just screams ‘everything will be alright’.

"You could still win, if you can beat me." At this, he grabs my hand, linking my fingers with his. I love the feel of his hand on mine, even. I squeeze his, bringing it up to clasp it in my free hand. And for a few minutes, we just sit like this, enjoying each other. Suddenly, I remember my question.

"Why aren’t we allowed to wear watches?"

Jeff looks thoughtful, before saying, "So they don’t sling off our wrists during crashes, maybe?" I find this answer acceptable, but he doesn’t feel the same way about the question. "Why?"

"Just wondering’s all. I could have used one during that inspection." He laughs at my unfunny joke, before kissing me sweetly. Suddenly, a harsh knock. I panic, but Jeff stays cool, untangling himself from me to get up and answer. It is a reporter.

"Hi, Jeff, is Jimmie around to give us a statement?" he quips. I realize he cannot see me.

"No, he’s in a meeting with me and a few others right now. I’ll make sure he calls you when he’s done, though." Jeff’s so good at lying it scares me. After a few more polite words, Jeff returns back to wrap an arm around me and pull me close to him.

"We officially have all the time in the world…"

Suddenly, his lips are on mine ferociously almost, pressing hard enough to make me whimper. He’s already moving to unzip my firesuit when I realize what he plans to do. "Jeff, Jeff, we can’t do it here," I say out of the corner of my mouth, moving to get him away. He pulls me closer.

"That’s what makes it so damn exciting."

At this, he moves back to me, smothering me with his kisses I now eagerly return. His hand moves to the back of my neck while the other tugs at my back, pulling our bodies so close I can feel his erection against mine, and I shiver at the prospect. He now unzips the suit, pulling the top part off with ease. I gasp for air when he breaks contact to unzip my pants, and for a second I’m disoriented when I feel the wet heat of Jeff, then all at once I moan and clutch his head, running my hands through it’s silky softness. He’s good.

He grazes me with his teeth, adding a small bit of pain to heighten the pleasure. He runs his tongue down my length even as I whisper his name over and over, it becoming my mantra. I can feel myself tensing as I near release, and that is when Jeff stops to come up and kiss me. I can taste myself as Jeff plays with my tongue and then his hand shoots down to finish his job as he looks at me intently. When I come cover his hand and most of him, and I call his name so loud I’m sure someone hears us, but no one does. He licks all of me off him before kissing me yet again.

God, I love him.

He leaves me limp with relief on the couch and gets up to shower. I hear his muted moans several minutes later. He’s as weak to me as I am to him. I adjust myself before he comes out again, wet and clean, lopsided smile on his lips. We kiss.

"I coulda taken care of you, you know."

"Yes, but you needed some punishment, outlaw."

"But this time, we'll show them
We'll show them all how much we mean
As snow falls on desert sky
Until the end of every
All we are, all we are
Is bullets, I mean this"

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Samantha - oklahomie00@yahoo.com