Den of Chaos Fiction
The Fast & The Furious

by Devil Child


Author's Note: Ye gods, was this a slashy movie or what?! This is my take on what happens after the end of the movie (the real end -- the one that showed after the credits rolled.) Assume that the charactr of Vince died. Thanks to Luminosity for the beta. I make no claim to the ownership of these characters. I believe that MCA/Universal owns them. This is a not for profit work of fan-fiction created under the principles of fair use, or as Henry Jenkins would say, this is a rational person's response to the coroporate ownership of modern mythology.

~Baja California~

It wasn't much. Just a dusty, rutted dirt road leading down to...a glorified shack really...about 100 or so yards from the sea.

Brian O'Conner's motorcycle sputtered to a stop in the dusty yard. No one came to the door. "Hello?" he called.

Eerie silence, broken only by the lapping waves and the sound of wind rustling the beach grass. Brian paused a few moments then swung a leg over and made his way up to the house, the weather beaten boards of the porch squeaking under his feet. Though he felt pretty sure no one would answer, he knocked on the splintery gray door anyway. Nothing.

With a gusty sigh he strode over to the grime streaked window and peeked in. Well, somebody lived here. Clean but beat up furniture. Neat but not pretty. A guy's house. Brian crooked an eyebrow at that as he walked around to get a better look at things.

The house had 3 rooms: front, bed, and kitchen. He spotted an issue of Car and Driver on the kitchen table. Okay. So now all he had to do was wait. The sun would set in a few hours. Brian hoped that Dominic would come back before too long; a desert beach got mighty cold after the sun went down. He rolled his bike into the shade of the house, parked his ass on a faded and creaky chair, and waited.

A dusty red and black Chevy Chevelle pulled into the yard just as the sun slipped beneath the waves. Brian shifted nervously in the chair as the Chevy idled for a few moments then crept closer. He locked eyes with Dominic Toretto through the windshield.

"Dom, it's just me," he shouted.

At last Dominic killed the engine and stepped out. The last 18 months hadn't changed him, Brian thought. Well, except for his eyes -- always surprisingly quiet and sensitive, they looked sadder, edgier.

"What 'chu want?" Dominic growled.

"Oh, just to talk, man."

"And you had to come all the way down here just to do that?" Dominic asked bitterly.

"Well, yeah," Brian said. "Seeing as you don't have a phone and you didn't exactly leave any forwarding addresses. You weren't exactly an easy man to find, Dom."

Dominic snorted and strode across the yard, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Brian let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It was there -- the old camaraderie, the old friendliness.

But there was a lot of hurt, too.

That's what sucked about undercover work. Oh, the old timers had told Brian all about it, but living it was something else entirely. Going undercover meant making friends and then betraying them in the end. And he had betrayed Dominic and Mia and Letty and all the rest of the gang. No two ways about that. Betrayed himself, too, by not bringing them all in, ending his career as a policeman. "The problem with you, Brian," his Sergeant told him, "is that you wanted it both ways, and you just can't have it like that."

"How'd you find me?" Dominic asked. The steps of the porch protested loudly as he mounted them.

"I traced the car. I eventually tracked that Supra to the guy you sold it to and from there I knocked about a bit until I found you down here."

"Figures." Dominic unlocked the door and walked in.

"Can I come in?"

Dominic grunted, went into the kitchen, and came out with a Corona, framed only by the harsh light of a naked 40-watt bulb. Brian's heart sank a bit. Maybe he had underestimated the depth of Dominic's anger. Dominic took a long swallow, tilting his head back, yet never taking his eyes off of Brian, who stood uncertainly in the nearly empty front room. "Why did you come here?" Dominic asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"To talk to you." Brian croaked nervously.

Dominic slammed the bottle down hard on to the kitchen table -- it was a wonder it didn't shatter. "Fuck you!" He roared, storming across the floor. "You cost me everything! You cost me Mia! You cost me Letty! You cost me my whole fucking family!" Dominic yelled the last bit practically in his face; Brian turned his head, cringing in the face of Dominic's wrath.

It was a mistake. The blow caught him completely off guard.

Ears ringing, eyes watering with pain, he glanced up at Dominic from the floor. Dominic's massive form radiated anger and menace...and hurt. Slowly Brian stood up. "I deserved that," he said through the blood in his mouth.

"Deserve a lot more." Dominic, muttered under his breath as he walked back to the table and took another long swallow. "What? You think you can talk to me and make everything better? You're such a middle class white boy. You really think the rest of the world works that way?"

"It's a start." Brian said.

The anger leached out of Dominic. He gave a long sigh and ran his hand over his scalp, "Get yourself a beer and sit down."

The beer felt good in his mouth, cold and astringent, though the salt taste from the blood was almost enough to make him gag. He rinsed his mouth with some water from the tap and spat in the sink before joining Dominic at the table. //Things could be worse,// he told himself.

Several moments passed in silence broken only by the sound of crickets chirping. Finally Brian asked, "How's Letty?"

Dominic looked at him with something close to hatred. "I don't exactly know, " he said finally. "I think she's in Nevada with some family of hers. She left about 6 months ago. I haven't heard from her since."

Brian cringed. There was no good way to ask the next question, but he had to know. "And Mia?"

Dominic gave him a strange look. "You must've not bothered looking too hard for her, asshole. She's still in LA, managing a parts store." Dominic drained the bottle, "Yeah, you really cared about her if you couldn't fucking find her.

"Jesse lived. He's with Mia. She takes care of him."

Brian flushed a bit at that. "I figured I stomped on her heart but good, and that I'd be none too welcome--"

"Like you are here?"

"And besides, if I had found her, as if she'd tell me where to find you." Brian took a swallow of beer. "I'm sorry about Vince." he said softly.

"So, why did you come?"

"I owe you, Dom. You offered me your friendship and I crapped all over it. You took me into your family and --"

"You gave up everything trying to save Vince's life."

"I still owe you. Look, what I did, what I had to do, doesn't sit right with me."

"You're a cop. It's what cops do."

"Not anymore, I'm not."

Dominic looked at him.

"I'm not a cop any more. Really, man." Brian ran a hand through his hair and rocked back in his chair, the frame creaking in protest. "Shit, does everything around here squeak?

"When I let you go, I put my career in the shitter." Brian was surprised that he could talk about the death of his career -- the career he had worked so hard for -- in such a casual, flat voice, almost as if her were talking about the shapes of clouds in the sky or watering his lawn. "I did it -- let you go. I was lucky to weasel my way out of jail time myself. I resigned before they could fire me, cashed out my savings account, bought a car and went. 'Bout six months ago, I decided I might as well see if I could find you." He scrubbed sore lips over his teeth, "So, that's what I've been doing."

Dominic said nothing, got up from the table, and opened the wheezing refrigerator. Popping the top of another Corona, he came back to the table. Both men sat in heavy silence.

"What do you want from me, Brian?"

"I don't know." A lie. Brian really wanted to say, "Well, I'd like you to forgive me and for us to be friends again, and maybe we could go back to the states and get back in the scene and race cars. When I was with you and the team, those were some of the best days of my life and I want that back." In the harsh light of reality that particular dream looked especially cheap and naive. He swallowed and said, "Perhaps I can stay a day or two and we'll take it like that."

Dominic frowned in thought for awhile before saying, "All right." Then, "Let's make some dinner."

Relieved to be, well, if not back in Dominic's good graces, at least on the road to getting back into his good graces Brian asked, "What are we making?"

Dominic gave a smirking laugh, "Classic Mexican food. Rice and beans."

Dominic dumped so much chili pepper into the mix that Brian felt his sphincter clench. Oooooh, that would burn coming out. Er, speaking of which...

"Uh, dude? Where's the toilet?"

"No toilet here. Shitter's out the back door. You'll find a flash light and some paper in the cabinet next to the door." Brian was half way down the back stairs before "Mind the scorpions," floated after.

Okay. Fuck. The door of the outhouse creaked open, and the acrid stench of ammonia assaulted his nostrils. Finishing his business quickly, Brian fought the urge to jog back in -- it wasn't just the bugs though. The night had turned somewhat cold and damp; a light fog had rolled in after sundown.

Dinner started quietly. Brian didn't have the energy for empty chatter and Dominic had always been a man of carefully measured words. Finally, midway through a mouthful of beans, rice and corn tortilla a question popped into Brian's mind. Desperate to break the increasingly leaden silence, he spoke. "So, Dom, what are you doing these days?"

"What do you think?" came the sarcastic reply.

"Auto mechanic."

"Got it in one."

After a few more bites Dominic added, "I work in that town a few klicks down the road. I keep just about anything running. Old Japanese cars, Fords, Chevys, motorcycles...fuck, I even tinkered on some old guy's tractor about a month back. Good thing I always had a mind for bailing wire and spit mechanics -- 'bout all I got to work with down here."

Taking a swig of beer in a futile effort to douse the flames in his mouth, Brian said, "I wonder some times what happened to your car." At Dominic's puzzled look he added, 'That red RX-7. I went looking for it."

"Heh heh heh." Dominic's laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. "I hid it. It's in storage. Some day..." He trailed off, frowning.

"What?" Brian pressed.

Dominic gave a tired sigh and dropped his fork into his bowl. "I like to think that some day I'll go back and get her, but that's just a bunch of horseshit, " he said darkly. "I'm paying rent, but, fuck, when am I going to go back to LA? No way am I going to bring her down here." His face clouded as he continued, "Shit. I should just stop making payments and just let them impound her. Fuck!" He glared at Brian, eyes stormy.


Back to square one.

And here he'd been hoping to talk Dominic back to the states...not necessarily back to LA, but starting over again in another city.

"Nah, don't do that." Brian rasped. "Wait a few years w-you can start again. Give the heat a little while longer to die. Besides, you were never charged with anything -- just wanted for questioning."

"Please. They found my prints all over that fucking Civic."


Dominic looked at him blankly.

"I burned the Civics. Both of them."

"That's destruction of evidence."

"Yeah and it went over really well with the brass -- oh they never could pin it on me. I made it look probable, ruptured fuel line, but they knew. They just couldn't prove it."

Dominic said nothing as he finished off his beer, but a hint of a smile played about his lips for the first time in several hours.


Brian couldn't stop the yawn that cracked his jaws open.

"Yeah, me too." Dominic muttered, then stood and stretched, joints cracking. "'S time for bed."

Brian stood and looked at the front room. A beat up loveseat and a threadbare wing chair. Oh well. "You got a blanket and a pillow I can borrow?"

"Sure. Oh -- wait a minute." Dominic's forehead wrinkled in thought. "Bugs. Big as fuck water roaches and scorpions. I don't think you should crash on the floor."

"Where, then?"

"We share the bed." Dominic didn't look too happy about the answer.



"Really, I can --"

"No. You can't, Brian. I'm serious."

Dominic bustled him into the bedroom. Like the rest of the house it was shabby but clean and orderly. The green paint on the walls had begun to peel, and the curtains were no more than a sheet tacked over the window. An ancient bed dominated the tiny room. Two things about the bed struck Brian. It stood in the middle of the room, touching no walls. It had long legs, each of which rested in a coffee can. Some sort of liquid half filled each of the cans.

"Lamp oil." Dominic said. "That way you don't wake up with bugs in bed. They drown."

"Oh..." Brian said, feeling stupid.

The bed creaked in protest when they both stripped down to their shirts and shorts and climbed on.

"Is there anything in this shack that doesn't make noise?"



At first Brian did his damnedest to not touch Dominic or get in his space, but the old and saggy bed defeated him. Try as he might, he kept rolling toward the middle.

"Would you fucking lie still so I can get some fucking sleep?" Dominic snarled after half an hour or so had passed.

Resigning himself to bodily contact, Brian gradually relaxed and drifted into slumber.

He woke slowly. Sunlight on his face. Warm. Comfortable...soft breath on his neck....

He was lying in bed with a man spooned up behind him, morning wood poking at the crack of his ass. The feel of it set his heart to hammering in his teeth , his own dick surging to rock hard levels. Brian very gradually rolled on to his back, preparing to ease out of bed. Dominic gave a heavy breath, almost a sigh, really, and snuggled a little closer to Brian. His face looked as sweet and mild as a child's; he had thick black eyelashes...Dominic's eyes suddenly flew open, blinked a few times in shock, and then Dominic leapt out of bed into the chilly morning air.

"Yeah, um.... Sorry 'bout that." Dominic said over his shoulder as he vanished into the front room.

"Whatever, man." Brian answered as he tried to make sense of what had just happened between them.

Breakfast consisted of little more than coffee and some tortillas. Both of them were too nervous and shy to meet each other's eyes for some minutes.

Taking a steaming gulp of coffee, Dominic asked, "What do you plan to do today? I got to go to work. You're welcome to come with and hang, or you can hang here all day..."

"I'll come to town with you."

Ten minutes into some seriously washboarded roads, Brian began to have second thoughts. He'd be lucky if his teeth didn't break or if he didn't get jounced so much he pissed blood. It wasn't all bad, though. Talking would have been pointless and it felt good to not have the burden of conversation.

Town wasn't much to speak of, even by the standards of rural Baja California. A few paved streets near a highway, the rest dirt, five, maybe six hundred people. Dominic pulled into a rickety carport behind a low cinderblock building. An elderly man greeted him in Spanish -- Brian kicked himself for letting his Spanish get so rusty. He got the gist of what Dominic and the old man said, but not much more. From the hearty back slaps and the light in the old man's eyes, it was clear he thought of Dominic as something close to a son. Dominic said something and gestured to him. The old man looked at him, his brown eyes clear and bright. Holding out a gnarled, callused hand, grey with years of ground in dirt, he introduced himself, "Fredirico Garcia." Brian shook it and introduced himself.

"It's cool, Brian, " Dominic rumbled. "I explained that you're in town to visit for a few days and that you're going to help out."

"I am?" Brian joked, "Sure, but I'm not half the mechanic you are."

"Don't matter. There's enough po-diddly stuff for you to do. That will free Fredirico and I up to pull the engine on that truck so's we can get at the tranny."

Brian spent the first half of the day adjusting idles, cleaning a rather crusty carburetor, oiling a sticky throttle cable, and replacing a few badly worn belts. Not exactly po-diddly stuff, but advanced enough that the average person, or a person without tools couldn't do it. After lunch and a catnap he found himself with little else to do except for hand Dominic and Fredirico tools, and talk to Dominic. And that was like pulling teeth. Dominic really didn't have much to say even when relaxed and loafing, and Brian felt wary of pushing things too fast. Anyhow, tomorrow was Saturday, and he'd have plenty of time to talk to Dominic then.


Saturday morning began almost exactly like Friday, warm and relaxed, gentle breath in his ear, a soft sigh and snuggle, the musky scent of arousal making Brian's morning erection just that much harder. He must have twitched or stiffened, for suddenly Dominic's eyes flew open and the two of them all but levitated in their haste to get out of bed. Brian was about to say something -- anything -- "I'll sleep on the floor tonight, really" until he happened to stub his toe on one of the coffee cans. Two of the largest roaches on the planet bobbed in the lamp oil. He shrieked in spite of himself.

"What?" Dominic asked, voice muffled as he pulled a shirt over his head.

"I stubbed my toe on that motherfucking coffee can and happened to notice that it's got a couple of dinosaur sized bugs in it." Brian said, looking at the disgusting brown bodies, still bobbing slightly in the jar. Fuck, but they were gross as hell.

"Oh, that?" Dominic's voice came from just over his shoulder, causing just the faintest whisper of air to brush Brian's ear. He went rigid. "Shit, that's nothing." Dominic continued. "You should have them in bed crawling on you. That was the straw that broke the camel's back with Letty. A couple of nights after we got the oil cans, she packed her bags and left."

"Yeah, okay." Brian turned and found himself fact to face with Dominic. They stood silent for several moments, awkward, yet right, as if each were trying to figure out what to do next, eyes locked, searching, coming up against the cusp of something so massive, like an iceberg, all but hidden until struck, undeniable, yet denied. Brian's nerves got the better of him and he ducked out the door and practically flew onto the porch.

"Where you going?"

"For a walk."

"Before breakfast?" Typical Dominic, always ready to eat.

"Yes." Brian said, biting off the word before clomping down the stairs.

"No fucking way" he told himself as he sprinted down the beach, so hard and fast he felt the wind sting his eyes. "I do not have the hots for Dominic Toretto. Okay. Think about it. I haven't had any in a long time. I spend the night snuggled against a warm body. I'm just missing Mia...her long glossy hair, those big sloe eyes, that creamy bronze skin, those soft, full lips. Yeah, I want her. This is just a bunch of repressed emotions working out -- it has to be -- getting all twisted up and confused as they come to the surface. I mean, I do love Dominic. Like a brother. He's the brother of a woman I loved -- love."

When he had repeated this enough that he had begun to convince himself, Brian turned and began the long walk back to the house. It was a glorious morning that did wonders to lift his dark mood. The sun burned lemony hot just above the horizon, scortching off the last of the pre-dawn haze. Wheeling and darting, a small flock of seagulls danced on the breeze, creeling in delight. He could see why Dominic chose to live in such a remote place.

With a deep breath, Brian mounted the steps to the porch.

"There's coffee on the stove," Dominic called.

"Thanks, man," Brian said, entering the front room. "So, what are we doing today?" He asked as if nothing happened.

"Well," Dominic said, coming out of the bedroom, "nothing in particular -- we can drink beer and go for a swim or something, but tonight we are going to this town 'bout an hour or so down the road --" he punched Brian lightly in the chest before throwing an arm around him and ruffling his hair, "'Cuz if this morning proved anything, we have got to get laid."

"I was thinking the same thing exactly." said Brian with big grin as they walked into the kitchen. But if that was the case, then why did he really feel so sad?


Dominic's idea of a Saturday doing "nothing in particular" had changed since Brian had seen him last, or maybe the presence of another warm body brought out the Bob Vila in him -- or maybe it was the Martha Stewart -- because all of the projects they did weren't exactly heavy home remodeling, but more along the lines of spring cleaning and small scale fix-its. So much for hanging on the beach and swilling beer. It wasn't all bad. He and Dominic worked well together, complementing each other's moves, instinctively falling into the same plans without having to vocalize them. They synched as naturally as when they worked in a garage, and the conversation flowed from sports, to women, to movies, and finally, to cars.

Dutifully scrubbing the grime of ages off of the front window, Brian delivered a monologue about the virtues of a dual carb system over a single 4 barreled carb when --


His legs stung like fire where Dominic had whipped him with a wet towel...and the fight was on! Across the porch they pounded, Brian hurdled the splintery railing, leaping like a gazelle, towels flailing, until each seized the handle of his bucket of dirty water....


Eyes locked.

"What we have here is a Mexican standoff." Dominic rumbled, straightening slightly, dropping his shoulders.

Just the opening Brian needed. With a wicked glint in his blue eyes, Brian launched the contents of his bucket.


The look of absolute shock, the total wet puppyness of Dominic's expression...Brian tried to run, but a man cannot howl with laughter and run fast. Dominic tackled him before he had made it more than a few steps. They skidded to a stop and lay in a heap, laughing weakly.

"Okay, Dom, you can get off me now."

Dominic rolled off, "Damn, you got me but good."

Brian rolled face up, brushed the sand off of his face, and looked at Dominic, who was gray with filth and covered with sand. "Yeah, " he wheezed with laughter, "You can say that again." Dominic looked at him, started to say something, and bit it back. Brian's eyes met his in a long and level gaze. Yearning and fear raced through him until he couldn't stand it any longer. "Damn," he sighed as the ease of the past several hours vanished, "We need to get laid."

"Yeah." Dominic echoed softly.


Her name was Marisol. She was short and fat, with frizzy hair bleached to an orangey color, and hard black eyes. She reeked of tequila and cigarettes, but for $20 you could come in her mouth.

Which was fine with Brian, because no way was he going fuck her in this filthy alley way. Groaning, he leaned back against the wall and surrendered himself to her mercenary attentions. He closed his eyes and thought of Mia, her long brunette hair, sun kissed skin, doe like eyes, her hands -- Dominic's hands, large and -- with a high pitched squeak of surprise he came. Hard.

When the world stopped spinning, he opened his eyes only to be greeted with the sight of Marisol spitting his come into the gutter that ran along the center of the alley. Mind in a fog, Brian handed her $20 and leaned back against the wall in a desperate attempt to find his wits. His gorge rose in his throat as he replayed the events of the last 5 minutes. He retched violently, stomach heaving long after its contents were emptied.

There was just no fucking way. No fucking way.

Shakily, hand on the wall for balance, he staggered down the alley, desperate to get back to Dominic's car. He wanted to curl up on the back seat. He wanted to curl up in bed, pull the covers up and shut the world out -- fat chance. Rounding a trash bin, he saw Dominic and his whore, Lupita, legs around Dominic's waist, pants around his knees, his ass clenching clenching clenching. With a moan it was over. Brian said nothing, just stood by the reeking bin, arms crossed, agitated, furious...jealous...mind whirling in a thousand directions as he struggled to make sense of the storm within.

"How long you bin there?" Dominic said, zipping his jeans, startling Brian.

"Oh, long enough." Brian tried to say it with a smirk and a leer, but it was halfhearted. "Can we go home now?" He asked before Dominic could say anything.

The request startled Dominic. "Oh, well...okay. Yes, I guess we can head back now."

Brian felt a tiny knife drive into his heart. He wanted nothing more than to be back in the cottage by the sea with Dominic. He wanted to be back in LA, a couple of hundred miles away from Dominic. He wanted it to be like it was, like it used to be between them, back when it was all so easy. Brian wanted it to be good again, but had no idea how, and more than a sinking suspicion that it would never ever be good and easy like that between them ever again. He was dying inside, and clearly Dominic had no clue that he was in love with him. He had been reading what he wanted to see into Dominic's actions. There was just no way it would ever happen. He felt like a fool.

The drive back was silent. Silent and strained.


The next two weeks saw the establishment of a routine between them. Dominic never asked when Brian planned to move on, and Brian never discussed leaving. Getting up in the morning -- macho bullshit display of getting out of each other's space. Coffee. Tortillas. Bumpy ride to the garage. Fredirico never paid him, and Brian never asked for money. Home. The occasional swim in the ocean, washing clothes in the sink. Dinner. Bed. (The smell of Dominic permeating the sheets.) Repeat.

Underneath it all, an unbearable mounting ...something.

Silence. Acres and acres of silence. No word spoken unless it had to be.

It felt like waiting. Waiting for a storm.


With a pair of pliers Brian wrestled the corroded wire holding the radiator in place. On the other side of the grille, crouched in the empty engine compartment, Dominic held it steady. There! At last the fucking wire snapped. Shit, but he was beat; time to call it a day. Brian closed his eyes and stood up slowly, cramped and tired muscles protesting. He opened his eyes to find Dominic's face inches from his, a dreaming, wondering look on Dominic's face, like a sleeper rising slowly from a dream. //He's going to kiss me.// Brian thought for one scary-wonderful moment, heart slamming in his chest.

The moment passed. Dominic started as if shocked, and stepped back, shaking his head, muttering to himself under his breath.

Brian felt as if someone had torn his heart out and stomped on it.

For the rest of the day, he watched Dominic when Dominic wasn't looking. Dominic's anger was on slow burn, Brian could see it in his eyes.

Game over. Time to go.


"So, I guess, I'll be going tomorrow."

The noise that started the avalanche.

Staring up at the ceiling, Brian took a deep breath and tried to put the events of the last several hours into some sort of context.

They had driven home in silence, Brian not wanting to set Dominic off. Brian had seen Dominic angry before, not pissed off -- Dominic got pissed off all the time -- but full on rage, and it was a terrible thing to behold. Not that trying to be silent and unobtrusive had worked. He and Dominic had gotten into a shouting match over...something...while dinner cooked. Dominic ate at the kitchen table while he sat on the porch and spooned his chili down. Coming back inside, he brushed by Dominic and washed his bowl and spoon, setting them on the rack to dry. Brushing past Dominic again, deliberately ignoring the simmering anger in those black eyes, Brian fetched a beer from the fridge, popped the top, and said the words he thought would defuse the whole situation:

"So, I guess I'll be going tomorrow."

"What is it with you?!" Dominic roared, veins popping out on his neck, throbbing at his temples. "What the fuck is it with you that you think you can just cruise in and out of people's lives whenever you want, doing whatever the fuck you want!" With a snarl Dominic lunged at him, Brian snapped out of his shock just in time to smash him upside the head with the Corona bottle.

Broken glass. Blood. Blood from the cut across his palm. Blood streaming from the gash above Dominic's right eye.

Oh Fuck.

Brian made it about 3 strides into the front room before Dominic tackled him so hard that the breath left Brian's body in a violent =HOOF!=

Dominic, on him, choking him and slamming his head into the floor so hard that entire galaxies of stars danced in his vision. Dominic kissing him and grinding against him in the most primal possible way. Brian kissing back, hard, devouring, his head and heart throbbing in time.

Somehow jeans got unzipped and shoved down, and Dominic's shirt got ripped off and Brian had his hands all over Dominic, grasping and needing his flesh, needing him so much. And getting, too. Getting that hot, hard mouth, clenching hands, Dominic's massive, instantly sweatslick body straining and slamming up against his equally yearning body with every ounce of power it could muster. Dominic hissing and swearing nonstop in his ear while Brian mindlessly babbled whatever came into his mind...and shot like he hadn't come in months, only to feel Dominic shuddering hot and wet all over his belly.

Brian hadn't even sat up before Dominic bolted out the door.

Head splitting with rebound pain, Brian wiped himself clean as best he could and sat on the couch, waiting for Dominic to come back. And waited, and went to the fridge for yet another beer, which felt cold and good against his bruised lip and the back of his head, and cold and tingling, soothed his ravaged throat. He had another. And another. And another. And another while he waited, and before Brian knew it, several empty bottles sat on the floor next to the battered loveseat.

Brian had just uncapped his seventh bottle and taken a hearty guzzle when heavy footsteps squeaked up the stairs and rumbled across the porch. Slowly the door opened, and Dominic stepped into the room.

"You all right?" Brian mumbled drunkenly.

Dominic's laugh had a hysterical edge to it. "Am I all right? Am I all right. What planet are you from, man? No. I am not all right. Okay?"

"So let's talk about it." Brian swayed upright against the cushions and patted the space next to him. Dominic paused for a moment, rolled his eyes, sighed, and finally sat down.

"Let's talk about it." Dominic echoed bitterly. Visibly collecting himself, he said, "Okay, it's not like I never did it with a guy before. When I was in prison --"

"Yeah, Lompoc, 2 years."

Dominic held his hand up, forestalling any more interruptions from Brian, "When I was in prison -- yeah, I got and gave a few hand jobs, even got a blow job once. But that was just blowing off steam. I got out and went right back to women. It's not like --" Dominic leapt off the couch and stalked agitatedly around the room, throwing his hands up in frustration, "I'm not supposed to want to do it with another guy!"

Brian laughed ruefully, "Oh, and like it's been easy for me? Fuck. I never did it with another guy before, and it wasn't like this was a planned seduction."

Dominic smiled at that, then said, seriously, "I'm not a fag, Brian."

"Well, neither am I, Dom." Brian shot to his feet, lurching unsteadily, swaying for a few moments as the combination of alcohol and his earlier beating took their toll. "I was a cop, Dom -- do you think they think kindly of fags?

"I mean, I still like women. I know I still like women, but --" his voice broke, "I like you, Dom. I like you a lot, and I can't lie to myself about that."

"Neither can I," Dominic whispered brokenly.

They both stood for a few moments, the silence broken only by the noise of the crickets, the breeze rustling the beach grass, and the gentle sound of water on sand.

Brian turned, and stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing his toothbrush.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Laying a neat line of toothpaste along the bristles, Brian said, "Getting ready for bed, Dom." Then he popped the brush into his mouth and began brushing vigorously, gagging only slightly as the minty taste of the toothpaste clashed with the hoppy aftertaste of the beer.

Dominic stared at Brian, jaw agape.

"What?" Brian asked as he spat into the sink. "It's late, I'm drunk, I'm tired, we've said what needed to be said, I'm going to bed."

Dominic's mouth opened and shut soundlessly several times as he gestured exasperatedly.

"What?" Brian asked again. "Hey, asshole, 'snot like I'm sleeping on the floor. Besides, we've been bunking together for a couple of weeks now. I promise not to jump your bones," he finished in mock exasperation. This seemed to placate Dominic. With a snort and a slight shake of the head, he joined Brian at the sink.

Both of them spent the night trying not to touch. Neither got much sleep. Both laid on their side of the bed, gripping the mattress, trying to overcome the sag. Brian studied the cracks in the ceiling and pondered the chain of events.

It was pointless anyways, trying not to touch. They both woke up just as they had for the past few weeks, snuggled together, sporting erections. Only this morning, the crocodile part of Brian's brain wanted -- no -- demanded satisfaction, oblivious to the fact that last night's satisfaction came with a huge emotional price. Hard and aching, his throbbing cock seemed to say, "I got some last night, now get me some more." With a tired groan, Brian slowly rolled out of bed.

By unspoken mutual agreement both men said nothing and launched into the day as if it were any other. Only their eyes acknowledged the truth, the thing between them. But this time, instead of shoving it aside, denying it, they let it build, felt it slowly and steadily gaining momentum over the course of hours; they savored the anticipation. When evening came, they ate dinner, washed their dishes, put them in the rack to dry, looked at each other, and spoke as one:


Facing Dominic across the expanse of bedspread, Brian felt his mouth go dry from a mixture of fear and desire. Part of him, the white middle class, all American jock part, wanted to bolt out the door, hop on the bike, roar off, and file yesterday's events under "it never happened". The other part wanted to leap across the bed and pin Dominic beneath him. Looking up, Brian could see the same emotion, the same conflict, in Dominic's eyes. Both men laughed nervously. The tension broken, Brian stepped back, not taking his eyes from Dominic, and shut the door. There. Now he as committed to this, no matter the outcome.

Brian unbuttoned his shirt like an automaton, eyes locked with Dominic, who stood watching, waiting. When Brian's fingers pushed the last button through the hole, only then did Dominic grab the hem of his T-shirt and pull it over his head in one smooth motion. The soft golden light of the single bulb caressed his muscles, and as Brian let his shirt fall from nerveless fingers, he suddenly felt small. Oh, he worked out and took care of his body, but he was nothing compared to Dominic's chiseled, powerful form.

Letting out a deep breath, Brian sat down on the bed. Its creak seemed unusually loud in the silence. Dominic joined him. Wordlessly and swiftly both men unlaced their shoes and stripped their socks, Brian tossing his to land wherever. Dominic, ever the orderly perfectionist, set his shoes and socks neatly beside the nightstand.

//Okay, shorts.// Brian thought, standing, pondering the fact that this was the least "romantic" way he had ever gotten undressed for sex. But the idea of trying to undress for Dominic the way he had undressed for a woman seemed so wrong and awkward, so not what he and Dominic were -- what he wanted to be. Brian unbuttoned, unzipped, let drop, stepped out of one leg, and with the other, kicked his shorts somewhere in the general direction of his shoes. Then, wearing only his jockeys, tented in the front, he lay back gingerly on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"You look like you're fucking going to the gas chamber, man."

Brian had to laugh at that.

"What's to be so nervous about?" Dominic asked, easing to the mattress, wearing only his boxers.

"I don't -- you're not a woman, Dom. Who makes the first move?"

Dominic's laugh rumbled from deep within his chest. "Hell if I know. I usually just lay back and let Letty have at me. Shit, this is sex. It's pretty -- well, you figure it out as you go along, least I did. If we both come, then we're doing it right, right?"

Brian smiled weakly and laughed at that.

Still, he almost started with Dominic touched him. Feather light fingertips trailed along his collarbone, pausing at the dip at the base of his throat, and then moving back the way they had come. Brian met Dominic's eyes. Dark, almost black, filled with such naked emotion that Brian's heart lurched in response. He grasped the back of Dominic's head, the stubble velvety against his palm and fingers, and pulled Dominic's face to his, closing those slightly parted lips with a kiss.

Magic. All hesitation, all fear, all doubt, vanished in one electric moment. Brian moaned softly as they separated, breathing each other's breath, savoring each other's taste, eyes mapping the depths of the other's soul.

The next kiss was deeper, richer, all about sharing what they had learned from each other, giving it back, amplified, and left both of them sweat slicked and gasping for more. Brian rolled, pinning Dominic beneath him, straddling him, their erections brushing through the thin material. Gently he lipped his way down the line of Dominic's jaw, savoring the faintly salty taste and smell of his skin. He wanted to see if Dominic had a "spot" just like he did -- right about where the jaw and the ear and the neck came together. When a woman went to work on him there, it was like a hotline straight to his groin. Lips, teeth, and tongue went to work, and Dominic's unique odor, salt and musk, the raw smell of sex, grew stronger with each passing moment.

Suddenly Dominic moaned and arched against him, "Oh Jesus, Brian!" His fingers clenched, digging into Brian's back. Dragging in a ragged gasp, Brian redoubled his efforts, meanwhile he slowly snaked one hand down the length of their bodies.

"Gimmie a hickey, and you're a dead man." Dominic panted, his hands clenching and unclenching, body writhing, kneading Brian's ass, grinding them both groin against groin. Brian answered by sliding a finger into the waistband of Dominic's boxers. Dominic reciprocated, sliding his fingertips under Brian's waistband, pausing for a second, then sliding his hands all the way in to cup Brian's sweat damp skin. Shaking his neck free of Brian's devouring mouth, Dominic turned his head and whispered in Brian's ear, "I want to take them off."

Brian arched his hips up in reply, allowing Dominic to slide the jockeys down to his knees -- after some ungraceful flailing he managed to get them some where onto the floor, kissing Dominic all the while, Dominic's involuntary vocalizations all the urging he needed.

"Now me" Dominic said, tearing his lips from Brian's. He flipped them in a swift, powerful move, once again reminding Brian of just how massive and strong he was -- how often he restrained himself -- Brian shivered at the thought of seeing Dominic completely cut loose. The idea of all that power, instead of making Brian feel small and womanly, ramped his fever pitch up to the next level. All that power, for him. Dominic's masculine hardness, a body that could take everything that he had to offer and return it in kind...he had searched his whole life for this. The lover he need not fear, the lover who need not fear him.

He slid Dominic's boxers down as far as he could reach, and Dominic kicked them somewhere on the floor as they their seeping cocks lay side by side, hairs tickling and caressing the shafts like thousands of tiny fingers. Dominic kissed him hard, and Brian grunted as Dominic slowly began to thrust and grind.

No! This was not how he wanted it. Brian bucked his hips hard, twisting, throwing, turning until they lay face to face, side by side. "Nobody on top." He whispered to Dominic. "Nobody on top."

Dominic nodded.

In unison, they grasped each other and began to stroke, slowly at first, then faster and harder, kissing, breaking off to sob for air or pant obscenities, kissing, moaning, hands moving faster and harder, bodies shaking, hips thrusting, until Dominic arched, every muscle in his body rigid, gave a short, choked cry, and came hot and scalding in Brian's hand. The heat, the slickness, the raw salty smell, the tremors that wracked Dominic's body all combined to send Brian over the edge.

They lay in each other's arms, damp, panting, the evening breeze billowing the curtains, caressing their bodies, until their come began to cool and grow sticky, breaking the perfection of the moment.

Dominic rolled off the bed and returned with a towel.

"Now what?" Brian asked, wiping himself.

"We take it as it comes, bro. We take it as it comes."

He could live with that, he thought as Dominic climbed back into bed and snuggled next to him. After all, is there really any other way to live life?