A The Fast and the Furious story
by dirty diana
Thanks for the help with Southern geography and other random things go to kelly girl.
The air-conditioning is broken, and it's hot, damn near sweltering inside the small motel room. The sweat drips, off Rome's skin, down the centre of his bare back. He taps the A/C unit, kicks it, pounds it solidly with his fist, and then massages sore knuckles.
Brian rolls over in bed. He laughs, over the sound of squeaking bedsprings.
"We could go tell the manager," he suggests practically. "They can fix it. Or move us to a new room."
"Right." Rome gets back into bed, in faded black jeans and bare feet. "You just want an excuse to go to the front desk and flirt with chica in the tube top."
Brian's blue eyes are wide and guilt-free, as Rome lands on top of him. "No way."
"I've seen you," Rome says. "Checking her out."
They've been in Memphis for two days. It's been over one hundred degrees both days, with endless humidity and no beach in sight. It's almost making Rome miss Miami.
Brian wants to go to Graceland.
"You are so fucking white, bro." Rome's hands slide up Brian's torso, smooth and tanned and damp with sweat.
"Yeah, so?" Brian challenges, and squirms out from underneath Rome, onto the pile of dirty sheets and blankets that's lying to one side of the bed. He reaches underneath the bed, fingers brushing the rough and thinning carpeting, and picks a magazine up off his piled-up collection. Street Rodder, August issue.
The car that he's pointing to is red, light glinting off the glossy pages. "If you win a couple more races," he says, "you could buy this for me."
Rome looks over his shoulder. "Yeah, right," he says, as he moves to sit astride Brian's waist, Brian's body firm underneath him, wriggling slightly as Brian laughs. "Why would I do that?"
"That's easy." Brian's voice is low in the quiet, airless room. "Cause I'll let you fuck me in the back of it."
Rome's vision goes blank suddenly, as Brian gyrates gently underneath him, pushing up against Rome's hips, and then lies still. He flips over the page.
Rome's fingers press deeper, underneath Brian's shirt. "I got a perfectly good car now," he says, "that you let me fuck you in. Don't I?"
Brian's response is one non-committal sound, as Rome's fingers stroke the back of his neck, coming around to touch his mouth. Brian bites gently at Rome's dark fingertips. "Maybe," he murmurs. "But this one has more room."
"Yeah," Brian says.
"Roll over," Rome orders him, lifting his weight just slightly. Hips still touching, so that when Brian moves Rome can feel him. All of him, his thighs and his slowly hardening cock.
Brian laughs at him, as Rome reaches down to kiss him, pushing his tongue deep into Brian's mouth. Sweet and salty, as Brian arches up to join him, his mouth demanding and eager.
Rome's cock is rising, straining in his jeans as Brian undulates against him, rough and slow, unapologetic. He's gasping when Brian breaks the kiss.
"Over," Brian murmurs from deep un his throat, and Rome doesn't argue, just rolls with Brian onto his back.
Brian's skin is sticky, sliding down the length of him to unbutton his jeans with quick fingers. Cool breath glides over the head of his cock, and Rome groans. Rome's hand curves around the back of Brian's neck, stroking his hair that's getting too long, as Brian takes him inside his mouth.
Rome groans again, thrusting slightly, easily into the warm darkness of Brian's mouth. Brian's hands dig into Rome's thighs, to steady him, and Rome struggles for breath. Then whispers nothing in particular, as Brian's tongue moves against his cock, and Rome comes, hard, fingers marking Brian's skin.
Brian looks up at him, wipes his mouth, and smiles.
"Over," he says again.
Rome's head is still too clouded to argue. His fingers dangle, off the edge of the bed, blood rushing to the tips. He only hears the sound of Brian's zipper sliding down, and then feels the warm hands on his waist.
Brian's fucked him in maybe every motel room between here and the Keys. In Tallahassee, on a bed that flashed green and orange with every flicker of the neon sign at the window. In Atlanta, Brian so drunk that he couldn't stand, could only hold tightly on to Rome while Rome straddled him and guided Brian's thick cock inside himself. Brian murmuring his name, underneath his breath, over and over, the only thing that he still remembered how to say. Then through the middle of Alabama, when Brian teased him for sixty miles of road, and they barely made it inside the door of that motel, Rome coming breathless and hard when Brian finally touched him, up against the wall.
He's almost hard again when Brian pushes into him, his cock slick with lube and sweat. Gripping tightly, breathing hard against Rome's neck. Filling him entirely, stroking slowly, easy and certain until Rome can't breath. Brian comes, spilling inside Rome with a moan.
Brian curls against Rome afterwards, with a pile of sheets underneath his head for a pillow.
"You really want to go to Graceland?"
"I really want to go to Graceland." Brian's voice is lost as he slides against Rome with a satisfied moan.
"I'm not buying any stupid t-shirts," Rome tells him.
"Fine," Brian answers. "Will you buy me the car?"
Rome laughs. "Shut up."
"You shut up."
The air-conditioning comes on then, with a clang and a croaking sound. Rome reaches out one hand, to feel the cool air blowing against his skin.
"We should go north next," he says.