| Title: Break Down Author: Jo Pairing: Christian Kane/Jensen Ackles; David Boreanaz Rating: NC17 Summary: Jensen's car breaks down, so Chris lends a hand. Disclaimer: While Christian and Jensen are friends in real life, I sincerely doubt this ever happened. I made it all up, y'all. Notes: Written for Highway Miles. My prompt was #133 - Jensen's stuck somewhere and calls on Chris. Someone, for the love of all that is HOLY, put Chris in a beat up mud-crusted truck. Seriously. Just for the record, I have nothing against 'foreign' cars. I drive a Honda and love it. But…this is Chris, we're talking about, so… Major thanks to Brenda for the beta.
"Can you come get me?" "What?" "Come get me." "I'm a little busy right now, man." "Dude, my car broke down." "Again?" "Shut up." "Told you not to buy that foreign piece of shit, didn't I?" "You comin' or not?" "Simmer down, son. Where are you?" Rolling to his side and propping his head on his hand, David looks at Christian. "What was that all about?" "The boy's car broke down," Christian replies as he crawls out of bed and heads for the closet. "Again?" Christian laughs. "That's what I said." "Tell him to buy a real car." "I did." There's another laugh as Christian rifles through his drawer for a clean shirt. "He wanted flash." "Where'd he break down this time?" "Where d'ya think?" Christian tugs a shirt over his head and runs both hands through his hair. "Middle of nowhere, right?" Still watching Christian, David chuckles and rolls to his back, stretching. "He's got the worst damn timing." Christian drops back onto the bed and grins at David before dragging on his boots. "I'll tell him you said that." "Fuck you," David replies, unable to keep from laughing. "Hold that thought, pumpkin," Christian grins, and reaches to pat one sheet-covered hip. He leans down, catches David's lips in a blistering kiss that has their toes curling. "I'll be back 'fore your dick gets soft." Perched on the hood of his car, Jensen watches as Christian pulls up and stops. Jensen slides until his feet hit the ground with a soft thump and runs a critical eye over the truck. Thank God no one besides Christian would be caught dead in that heap. No self-respecting anyone, anyway. Beat up and battered, the Ford F-150 is almost as old as Christian, and was once blue. Now it's just an odd shade of dingy gray that peeks out between the streaks and spatters of mud that line the sides and front end. Rode hard and put away wet is the phrase that comes to mind. Kinda like Chris, but that thought screeches to a halt as Christian walks around the front of the truck, and Jensen gets a good look at him. The crumpled cowboy hat is expected, as are the broke-in and battered boots. The jeans, however, look like they're going to fall apart any second. They're so faded and worn that they're almost white. The seams are fraying, the hems are gone and move in tatters around Christian's boots with every step, and the material hugs his thighs like a lover. Jensen can tell just by looking that they're velvety-soft. But it's the shirt that really gets his attention. Shirt, hell. It's a wife-beater, and Jensen's going to call it what it is. White and snug, the damn thing should be illegal with the way it's stretched over Christian's broad chest like a second skin. Dressed like that, it's no wonder he has girls falling all over him. Jensen would be jealous if he didn't get his fair share of girls. And if Christian wasn't such a good guy. Still, though. Jensen has to swallow a few times to ease the dryness from his mouth. Christian just winks as he strolls past. "What'd you do to it this time?" "What?" There's a startled blink, and then Jensen whirls to glare at Christian's back. Goddamn cocky ass country motherfucker gonna give him shit about his car? Again? "I didn't do anything to it. It just died, damn it." "Uh huh." Christian leans down to pop the hood, then glances at Jensen. "I didn't!" "Uh huh." "Cocksucking bastard," Jensen snarls, and Christian grins at him again. "What?" "Nothin'." Propping the hood open, Christian looks under it for a moment, one hand reaching in to test something. "Get in and try to start it." "It won't start." Damn it, Jensen doesn't need this shit. He's been sitting out here in the hot sun for over an hour waiting on Christian to show up. Asshole probably took his time. And even though he can't see Christian's face, Jensen just knows that those blue eyes are rolling. "Wouldja just get in the damn car and try to start it?" "Fine, fine, fine," is all Jensen says as he stalks to the car and snatches open the door. He sits there, key turned, but the only response is a sick sounding rurrrurrrurr before he finally stops. "See?" "If you say 'I told you so', I'm gonna beat your ass, boy," Christian mutters, just loud enough to be heard. Jensen might have tried if Christian hadn't come strolling up, acting all high and mighty like always, but now, he can't resist. "I told you so." Christian's head snaps up, and he narrows his eyes to glare at Jensen. "You owe me," he says, voice soft and clear. "Get my toolbox outta the back of the truck." There's a moment where Jensen just stands there, but those blue eyes don't waver. Then, there's another moment when they're both looking at each other, eyes locked in a silent duel. Christian moves first, bringing his hand up to rest on the raised hood, and his eyes narrow. Jensen has a split second of wanting to say something, but he just shrugs and moves. His daddy taught him to pick his battles carefully. "Think you can fix it?" he asks, returning with the case and handing it to Christian. Jensen winces when it thumps down on the fender. "Dunno yet." Christian's attention focuses on the engine block again, then he rummages through his toolbox before bending over and starting to work. "Depends on what's wrong with it." "Whattaya think's wrong with it?" Christian pauses, resting his forearms on the radiator, and looks over at Jensen. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be pokin' around like this." "I was just…" Jensen closes his mouth under Christian's flat stare, then shrugs. "Nevermind. Anything I can do to help?" "And get your hands dirty?" Christian snorts with laughter and shakes his head. "Nah, just stand there and look pretty and hand me the tools when I need 'em." Look pretty? Look pretty? Jensen glares at the top of Christian's head. He gets his hands plenty dirty. Asshole. "Scoot over," he mutters, using his hip to nudge Christian to the left, ignoring the soft huff of laughter that Christian makes. "I know a carburetor from an alternator, dumbass." "Okay." Christian drops the wrench into the toolbox and tips his hat a little further back. He's covered with grease and grime to the elbows, and there's a black smear across his shirt. Jensen just licks his lips and tries to look somewhere else while ignoring the grime covering his own hands now. "Try 'er again." "Think it's gonna start this time?" "Son…" Christian pauses, both hands braced on the car. The look he gives Jensen is calm and patient, but there's a blistering heat lurking in the depths of his eyes. "Just do what I said and get in the goddamn car and try it. Otherwise we'll be here all goddamn day. I got plans." "You think I don't?" Christian just give Jensen another one of those looks. Stalking around the side of the car, Jensen slides in and turns the key. There's clicking and buzzing all at the same time, and it doesn't stop until he lets go of the key. He swears under his breath, and says, "Chris…" "Sonuva…" Chris swears up a blue streak, and there are a few words in the tirade that make Jensen's eyes widen. Or maybe it's just the combination of words. "So," Jensen begins, sliding out of the car and closing the door. He looks at Christian over the raised hood and isn't at all surprised to see Christian glaring down at the engine. "Goddamn alternator," Christian snaps as he jerks the toolbox away and slams down the hood. "Motherfuckin', cocksuckin' --" "Christ!" Jensen jumps when the hood bangs into place, then frowns. "I'll call a tow truck." "Good idea," Christian snarls, and it's clear that his earlier good mood is long gone. He stomps over to sling the toolbox into the back of his truck before dragging out a towel. Jensen watches from the corner of his eye as Christian tries to wipe the worst of the grime off his arms and hands. Still keeping an eye on Christian, Jensen fishes around in the glove box for a business card, then calls for a tow truck. Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he starts across the grass towards the truck, grimacing as he looks down to see grease streaked across the front of his jeans. "Guy said it'd be at least thirty minutes. Probably twice that." "Figures," Christian mutters. He tosses the towel back into the truck, and then leans in, hand searching under the seat. Jensen watches, not even bothering to hide his appreciation, as the snug denim curves across Christian's ass. Which is probably why he flushes when he glances up to find Christian looking him, eyes glittering with amusement. "What?" "Nothin'. Here," Christian says, wide smile in place as he hands Jensen a bottle of beer. Fingers wrapped around the brown glass, Jensen looks at it. "It's warm." "So?" Christian twists the cap off his and takes a healthy swallow, emptying half the bottle before he stops. "So, warm beer is disgusting." Christian snorts and gives Jensen an unfathomable look. "When'd you get to be such a pussy?" "Fuck you." "Pussy," Christian murmurs, eyes sparkling under the brim of his hat as he lifts his bottle and takes a long swig. "Fuck off, man. You know better." "Then drink your beer," Christian says, lounging back in the open door of the truck, ankles crossed, and he tips his bottle in Jensen's direction. It's a dare, and Jensen knows it. For a moment, he's tempted to push the issue. But he knows that Christian will just double dog dare him, and then he'll have to drink the beer anyway. Matter of honor, and all that. Muttering under his breath, Jensen cracks open the bottle. "Probably taste like horse piss," he says, as he lifts the bottle and takes a swallow. He starts to lower it and almost chokes when Christian's hand wraps around it over his. "Naw, son, all of it," Christian murmurs, smiling in a way that has Jensen's blood throbbing. The bottle tips up again. The way Jensen sees things he's got two choices -- drink it all or end up wearing it. He opts for the lesser of the two and starts to swallow. Smelling like beer for the rest of the afternoon is not high on his list. And damned if he doesn't think Christian knows it. Christian's hand doesn't move, and he's standing close enough that Jensen can feel the heat coming off his body. He tries hard not to think about that, or about the blue eyes watching him intently. There's a few seconds when Jensen isn't sure he's going to be able to swallow all the beer -- Jesus, it really does taste like horse piss -- and a thin stream slides down his chin, but then he's done. Thank fuckin' Christ. "Ha ha, that's my boy!" Christian grins and steps back, taking the now empty bottle with him. Jensen just stands there, head back, trying to catch his breath. "That," he says, when he finally trusts himself to speak, "was vile." Christian just chuckles. He leans back in the open truck door again, ankles crossed in front of him, bare arms over his chest, half-empty beer dangling from his fingers. "Want another?" he asks, starting to reach behind him. "No!" Jensen shakes his head, thinks maybe he shouldn't have because the warm beer -- chugging it like that -- the hot sun beating down on his bare head, and the fact that he hasn't eaten since breakfast and it's well past lunch isn't sitting well with him. Probably that cheap ass beer that Christian insists on buying. "No, s'okay, man. I'm good." "Pussy," Christian says, but there's a fondness in the word that takes most of the sting out of it, and Jensen thinks that maybe Christian's already realized how the beer's affecting him. He just hopes that "pussy" doesn't replace "the boy" as Christian's nickname for him. "The boy" is bad enough, but "pussy"? Oh, yeah. There'll be a fight then. "Gonna buy a real car now?" Christian asks, tipping his hat up with one thumb. "I have a real car." "Sure," Chris shrugs, lifting his bottle to finish off the rest of his beer. "If ya don't mind it breakin' down every coupla months." "Fuck off," Jensen replies, and gives Christian a sour look. Christian just grins. "Jen, how long you had that thing? A year? Two? And how many times I had to bail your ass out 'cause the damn thing broke down on the side of the road?" Jensen mumbles something, and Christian leans forward, one hand cupped behind his ear. "Come again?" "Five," Jensen snaps, and glares at Christian even though it's not his fault. Christian tried to tell Jensen not to buy the damn car. Son of a bitch doesn't have to be all cocky and shit about it now, though. Jensen's look gets even darker when Christian chuckles. "It's a piece of shit, son," Christian drawls. "Trade it in and get yourself an American made car." "Like that heap you're driving?" Jensen raises an eyebrow and runs his gaze over the truck. Looks like there might be a new dent or two in it. It's hard to tell with all the old dents and the mud. Laughing, Christian pats the truck with a loving hand. "Might not be the prettiest thing on the road, but it gets me where I need to be. And," he says, turning to look for something in the cab, "it's only broke down on me twice in seven years. Seems to me like it's got a better track record than that little Korean piece of crap you're drivin'." Just like that, with Christian's back to him, Jensen comes up with the best way to get back at Christian for the beer. To hell with what's being said about his car. He'd already decided to trade it in on something. Or maybe it's just the beer and the heat and the lack of food talking. Either way, Jensen's pissed, and what he does next seems like a really good idea. "Trade it in, huh?" The words are low, even, as Jensen steps up behind Christian. "Yeah, get yourself some--" The words die abruptly when Jensen presses against Christian's back, his hand sliding up Christian's arm to cover the hand resting on the side of the truck. "Gonna give me some pointers?" Jensen asks, tilting his head so his lips brush Christian's ear beneath the hat. "Pointers?" Christian's voice is just as calm and quiet as Jensen's, and he doesn't move. Just stands there, fingers flexing under Jensen's, and acts like nothing's happened. "On a new car," Jensen murmurs. He shifts his stance a little until…yeah. Their hips fully aligned, he can feel his cock nestling between Christian's cheeks, even through two layers of denim. "Boy," Christian says, voice low and husky and with something in it that Jensen's never heard before. "You don't wanna be startin' something you ain't plannin' on finishin'." "Now what makes you think I ain't gonna finish?" Jensen's breath stirs dark hair as he whispers the words against Christian's neck. A dark thrill races through him when Christian shudders, his skin pebbling under Jensen's lips. "Because," Christian says, and that's all the warning Jensen gets. Christian's hand shifts, wraps around Jensen's wrist, and he twists. Just like that, Jensen finds himself with his back slammed against the door post, Christian pressed tight up against him. "Because?" Jensen's more than a little breathless, but fuck. Christian's noticeably hard dick pressed up against a guy's hip is apt to do that. Sliding his tongue over his lower lip, Jensen shifts and deliberately grinds against Christian. Normally sky blue eyes turn cobalt, and Christian's lips part in a feral grin. "Because," he says, "I don't bottom." "First time for everything," Jensen says, and smirks. Christian laughs, and it's dark and dirty, humming through Jensen like a bolt of electricity. "Boy," he murmurs, still laughing, eyes even darker now, "you ain't got what it takes to make me your bitch." There's so much he could say to that, so many ways he could push the few buttons that he knows Christian has, but this time Jensen thinks before he speaks. "That so," he murmurs, straightening up, bumping Christian's chest hard with his. When Christian's nostrils flare, Jensen smiles. "Somethin' wrong, Chris?" One hand curls over the top of the doorframe, and Christian stands his ground. "Dangerous game you're playing," he says, voice raspy and low like he's just done a shot or two of whiskey. "Game?" Jensen laughs a little, reckless now, and reaches up to curl his own hand beside Christian's. This game they're playing -- if that is, indeed, what it is -- is fast spiraling out of control, and Jensen knows he should pull back, ease off just a little even if this is what he wants. There's a fine line here, and Jensen's just sort of playing it by ear because he doesn't want Christian good and pissed. Just riled up enough to lose that damn control of his. "No games here, son." The nostrils flare again, and Christian smiles, slow and lethal. "Either you suddenly remembered where your balls are, or you've lost your ever-lovin' mind." "Scared?" Christian's smart enough to hear the challenge there, and Jensen knows it. When dark lashes sweep down, and Christian's eyes get that lazy, hooded look, Jensen thinks for the first time that he might be a little out of his league because this is Christian, and Jensen knows how he is. "Think you're man enough to play with the big dogs, that it?" "Think you're far too fond of your own voice," Jensen fires back, unable to tear his eyes away from Christian's. "Who's the pussy now?" Eyes dark and narrowed, Christian surges forward, and Jensen wants to say hey, man, it's cool, no harm, but he can't. The second he opens his mouth to speak, Christian is there, lips covering Jensen's, tongue invading, and there's nowhere to go except forward. So Jensen does, shoving back until Christian is forced to give just the smallest bit, and fuck if it's not far hotter than Jensen ever thought it would be. And he's thought about it plenty. Christian kisses like he fights -- all focused and lethal, barely restrained power as he pushes towards the end goal. Jensen wonders if Christian fucks like that, too. Then Christian's tongue does this twisting roll against the roof of Jensen's mouth, and he forgets everything but now and more and fuck, yes. It's a good thing that he doesn't need his brain for this, because Jensen's pretty sure that the kiss has incinerated half of his brain cells. The hand that's competently unfastening his belt promises to incinerate the other half. "No smartaleck comments now?" Christian asks, growling the words down Jensen's throat, and Jensen would reply if he could. All he can do is groan and buck as Christian fists his cock. Jensen can feel every callous on the palm sliding along his length, feel the roughness of the fingers curled tight around him. The slow heat seeps into him, seers its way along his nerves, and Jensen just tilts his head back as warm lips close over his Adam's apple and start to suck. "Told ya," Christian murmurs, teeth scraping sensitive skin, "that mouth was gonna getcha in trouble one day." Jensen doesn't think "ungh" is a word, but it's what comes out of his mouth. It's all he's capable of at the moment. "Fuck, yeah." A dirty, wicked laugh -- the kind that only Christian, of all the people Jensen knows, is capable of making -- accompanies the words. "The things I could do with that mouth…but not now." That's all the warning that Jensen gets. Before he's realized what's happened, his jeans are around his knees, and he's spun around and shoved facedown on the cracked vinyl of the truck seat. He turns his head just enough to watch the glove box open with a click and a whump, and…. There's a split second of hysterical laughter that wells up when Jensen sees the bottle of Jergens lotion that's inside. Only Christian, man. Fuck. Jensen starts to rear up, is stopped by Christian's hand in the middle of his back. "Nuh uh, son," Christian croons, curving over Jensen's back to keep him in place. "Runnin' with the big dogs now." Jensen tries again. Pride, honor, all the shit that goes with it. But Christian has himself angled just right, pressing against Jensen's back, a knee wedged between Jensen's legs. And Jensen can feel the worn denim rub the inside of his thighs each time Christian shifts his weight. "Damn, boy," Christian says, and Jensen can feel the ragged breath along the back of his neck. "Stop wigglin' so much." There's a few seconds where Jensen freezes. Wiggling? What the hell? "Oh no you don't." Christian mutters something else, and Jensen starts to ask what he's talking about, but slick fingers probing, then pushing, knock the words right out of his head. "There, that's better," Christian says, grin loud in his voice as he works his fingers in deeper, "none of that lyin' there like a girl crap." Girl? Smart ass son of a bitch. Jensen'll show him girl. He braces one hand to do just that when nimble fingers drag over his prostate. He makes a high, choked sound that's rewarded by a chuckle from Christian. The fingers slide over that spot again, and Jensen pushes back, fingers scrabbling at cracked vinyl and worn carpet as he tries to gain some leverage. It's undignified, but hell. What's he supposed to do? If Christian doesn't hurry up and get on with it, Jensen just might start humping the seat. Anything to ease the ache in his dick right now. Christian just laughs, a soft huffhuffhuff of air across Jensen's sweat-dampened skin. Then the fingers are gone. Jensen's whimpergrowl of protest is cut short because Christian is there, and he's pushing and Jesusfuck! Christian's not the first guy that Jensen's been with, but Jensen's willing to put good money on him being the biggest. "Chris…" "Shh, shh, fuck," Christian murmurs, taking his time. His hands grip Jensen's hips hard enough that Jensen knows he's going to have bruises. "Tight…" Jensen wonders if Christian is capable of rational speech at the moment. He knows he isn't. Not by a long shot. His fingers curl around the edge of the seat, and he swears he can feel the burn down to his toes. But then Christian stops, fingers easing a little, thumbs rubbing small circles on Jensen's lower back. "Aw, fuck…yeah," and Christian is moving now, slow thrusts at first, like he's building up to some sort of earth-shaking finale. That's fine with Jensen. He needs the time to adjust, needs the time to catch his breath if that's possible at this point in the game. He pushes back, meets the next thrust, and an almost savage grin curls his lips at the hitch in Christian's breathing. "Fuck yeah," Christian breaths, lips sliding along Jensen's nape as he picks up the pace. Jensen matches him easily, both hands braced on the seat as he rocks back, all discomfort gone now. He loses the rhythm for a moment when Christian's hand slides over his hip to wrap around his cock. The pace is brutal now, raw and primal, underscored by flesh slapping against flesh and Christian's soft grunts. Jensen can hear his own harsh breathing rattling in his throat as his hips cant forward, rock back. He can feel the heat as the sun beats down on exposed skin. He can smell lotion and motor oil and sweat and cut grass. Fuck yeah is replaced with harder, and Jensen fights to keep up, shoving back into each thrust. He's lost track of time, doesn't even know anymore who is saying what. Doesn't care. It's harder and faster and more mixed in with darlin' and come on, c'mon!, but all Jensen can think is now. He spills over Christian's fingers with a soft groan, and in the pleasant haze surrounding him, Jensen thinks he hears Christian shout before a warm weight settles against his back. Nice. Maybe he'll stay here for a while, just like this. Not like his limbs have any intention of cooperating with him at the moment. "Fuck," Christian laughs softly, and the breathlessness of it makes Jensen shiver. Almost as much as the soft lips that kiss the side of his neck. "Nice," Jensen mumbles, and Christian just laughs again. Then his weight and warmth are gone, and Jensen feels bereft. But Christian pats his hip and hands him the towel. "One way of describin' it," Christian says, and his clothes are already in place again by the time Jensen stands up and manages to fumble his jeans back up and fasten them. The belt buckle defeats him, so Jensen slides the belt from the loops and tosses it in the truck. "Tow truck's on its way." "What?" Jensen whirls around, mouth open, sure he's got the proverbial deer-in-headlights look. All he sees is a puff of dust in the distance. "Easy, junior," Christian laughs, leaning in to the truck to pull out another warm beer. "He ain't seen nothin'. And you look fine. Freshly fucked, but fine." "Wakey, wakey." David grumbles and tries to burrow deeper under the sheets. "Go'way." "C'mon, pumpkin, wake up." Christian grins, slides his fingers over David's ribs, knowing just the right spots to make him curl up and howl for mercy. When David slaps his hand away and opens one eye to glare, Christian just laughs. "Bastard." "Mmm." Christian stretches and flops back on his pillow. That's when David notices the wet hair. "You showered?" He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow as he lets his gaze sweep over Christian's nude form. "Dude, I was greasy. And sweaty." David just looks at Christian. "And you smelled like the boy." There's a slight, almost unnoticeable pause, then Christian chuckles ruefully and shakes his head. "That obvious, huh?" "If you were any smugger," David says, propping up on one elbow, "your ego wouldn't fit in bed with us. So you bagged him finally?" "Bagged? God, you make it sound so cheap and sleazy." "You mean it wasn't?" The eyebrow goes up again. "Well…" "That's what I thought. Asshole." "What?" Christian manages his best innocent look. "What'd I do now?" "You couldn't at least bring him home with you?" "What, like a lost puppy?" "Fuck you," David says, but he's smiling. "I should know better than to talk to you when --" "Did I mention he's coming over for dinner tomorrow?" "Ohhhh…" David stares at Christian, then shakes his head when the smug grin blooms again. "You are such an ass, you know that?" "Aww, I love you, too, pumpkin," Christian says, and almost falls off the bed laughing when David's pillow connects with his head.
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