Chapter Text
Mexico
Dom woke to a trilling phone on the nightstand. Fumbled it off the cradle. Grunted into the receiver.
“Lo siento, está temprano.” His neighbor, Tadeo, apologized. In the background, Dom heard heavy equipment, which meant he was at work – construction started earlier now, getting ahead of the heat. “Hay un carro en frente de tu casa con alguien dentro. Me parecó extraño.”
Dom paused to lower the phone against his shoulder and listen. Footsteps. Doors. Anything. The house was silent as it had been for almost two years, since Letty left for good. He sat up, suddenly very awake. Someone in a car in front of his house. Could be nothing.
“Como era el carro?” he asked, keeping his voice low as he retrieved his pistol from the nightstand.
Tadeo huffed a laugh in his ear.
Dom crept down the hall toward the front of the house.
“Lindo,” he said. “Demasiado lindo.” Too nice – that could mean a friend of his or it could mean trouble, but a car that nice in front of his house, it wasn’t nobody.
Dom thanked Tadeo, for once grateful for how intrusive people around here could be, and made some quick assurances to get off the phone.
The curtains on the front window were thick enough to keep out the worst of an afternoon sun. He slipped two fingers under the edge and peeked out. Sure enough, there sat a sleek white Spyder, the latest model, dusty as any car that braved these back roads but otherwise pristine.
At first, he couldn’t see the man in the driver seat, but then he shifted forward, forearms folded on the steering wheel, and it was him.
Brian.
The air rushed out of him, and he was back in LA, crawling from the wreck of his father’s Charger, half shocked that he was even alive, and then there was Brian, throwing him a new set of keys, giving him his freedom.
He was in Baja before he even began to pick apart that interaction, and he’d done nothing but pick at it for years now. Sat in this house, in his garage down the street, and picked at the never-healing scab that was Brian O’Conner while his crew, his family, slowly peeled away from him, soul by soul.
Dom set the gun on the coffee table and stepped onto the porch. The sun wasn’t over the houses yet but high enough to light the sky. He was only wearing a pair of pajama pants, he remembered, as the chill of the morning caught on his skin.
Brian lifted his head and stared. Without looking away, he opened the door. Stepped out. Stood next to the car like he didn’t know what came next. He was more tan than back in LA even, hair so bleached out he must have been south of the border for at least part of the winter. His clothes were different, too – fancy but not flashy. Tan slacks, brown loafers, a short-sleeved blue button-up. A pair of aviators perched on his head. It was a miracle he hadn’t been jacked on his way here.
“You should put the car in the garage,” Dom advised. “If you want it to still be here later.”
Brian opened his mouth, then closed it. Nodded. “Okay. Can you…?”
Dom waved at it, then ducked inside for shoes. He reemerged as Brian started the car, the engine a smooth purr that belied power, but not anything aftermarket. Dom hauled the garage door up. The Spyder pulled in alongside his daily driver, an older Elantra.
This time, when Brian got out of the car, he blurted, “This is what you’re driving these days?”
“I keep the showy stuff at work,” he said, feeling a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “This I can park at the grocery store without losing it. Besides…” He patted its sedate gray paint. “I bet what I’ve got under the hood of this thing could smoke that shiny off-the-line crap any day.”
Brian grinned. “It’s new. No time to mess with it yet.”
“That what you’re here for?” Dom asked, surprised at how easy he’d found his way to the question. “Couldn’t find a good mechanic in the states?”
The grin faltered, then slipped, then vanished. Brian looked lost again. He licked his lips. “Wasn’t in the states. I was, uh…” He looked out the garage door, eyes scanning the street. “I was in Colombia.” The way he said it, sort of dreamy, he might as well have said, I was on the moon.
This was fucking weird.
It wasn’t like he’d thought of nothing else since he left LA, not like Dom didn’t have other shit going on. Not like he was obsessed. But the events that led to him fleeing the states, what he only privately thought of as The Brian Thing, it changed everything. It wasn’t all he thought about, but it took up some serious mental real estate.
And Brian himself… well, there was some property dedicated there, too. Some property and some nights with some damningly blond rent boys. Dom had never thought he’d be the kind of guy to seek out male company, let alone to pay for it.
Brian was a cut on the inside of his cheek, always at the edges of his attention and unable to heal because he couldn’t leave it be.
Now he was sitting at Dom’s tiny kitchen table, watching the coffee pot on the stove like he’d never seen a coffee pot, a stove, or a flame before. He had the sunglasses in his hands, which looked even more expensive up close, fidgeting the arms open and closed.
“How’d you find me?” Dom asked, because he wanted to ask about Colombia, but didn’t like what the mention had done to Brian’s face earlier.
Brian blinked and turned as if he’d only just remembered Dom was there. He set the glasses aside. “Oh. A… someone found you for me.” When Dom frowned, he added, “Not law enforcement. I haven’t been a cop in…” He kept doing that, kept trailing off like the words about to come out of his mouth startled him. He cleared his throat. “They fired me after I let you go.”
Despite his better judgment, Dom said, “So you weren’t in Colombia taking down drug kingpins.”
Eyes widening, Brian said, “No.”
The coffee pot started to gurgle, and Dom pulled himself away to get the mugs ready. “Why did you ask someone to track me down?” While he waited through the silence that followed, he turned off the stove and poured the coffee.
Brian’s eyes were fixed on the table, not even flickering when the mug slid in front of him. He pressed two fingers to the side of it, then drew them back. “Do you know why I let you go in LA?” he asked without raising his eyes.
Dom’s eyebrows crept up. “I spent a lot of time wondering,” he admitted. “You gonna tell me?”
Blue eyes locked on him, sudden. Brian’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “I was gonna show you,” he said, then his face twisted like he was laughing and in pain at the same time, a huff of breath slipping out, eyes darting to the side. “I’m kinda having a hard time getting my nerve up about it.”
His pulse sped as he reached for some other explanation, some other meaning Brian’s words might have, but he came up blank. Dom’s voice didn’t sound as steady as he wanted when he said, “Here I thought you were nothing but nerve.”
Brian slid back, his chair scraping on the tile, crossed the two steps between them, then bent and pressed his mouth to Dom’s. Nothing pushy, but not innocent either, his lips loosely parted so that when Dom leaned up to meet him, when he opened his mouth in return, it was easy as anything to slot them together, to seek out Brian’s tongue with his own.
Dom cupped Brian’s cheek in his palm, and one of Brian’s hands landed on his bare shoulder. It pushed, just slightly, just a suggestion, and Dom scooted the chair back. Brian followed, and then he was straddling Dom’s lap. The fancy slacks felt expensive under his fingers when he settled a hand on Brian’s thigh.
He wanted to ask, almost pulled back to do it, for clarification. Maybe a joke, something like, What, you let me go because you were hot for me? Then Brian ground down on his lap and gasped softly into his mouth, and all Dom wanted to hear was that sound again.
When he tried to stand and lift at the same time, the leverage didn’t work. Brian was a more solid mass of muscle than a strung-out rent boy, so his feet slipped to the floor, and he helped to pull Dom up, the table shifting under his hand.
“The bedroom…” Dom started to say, but ended up with a tongue in his mouth, then just as quickly, teeth at his neck.
“It’s a small house,” Brian murmured against his skin. “I can figure it out.”
They only got halfway down the hall before Brian grabbed him through his pajama pants, and Dom pressed him into the wall, did his best to taste the backside of each of Brian’s teeth. He tugged the silk-smooth shirt from Brian’s waistband and pressed his hands to the firm, warm skin underneath.
Against his mouth, Brian said something muffled that sounded like, “Do you want me?”
“Yeah,” Dom breathed. He pressed his cheek to Brian’s, panted into his ear, “I thought about this. Thought about you. Never stopped.”
He felt Brian slip away all at once, heard the clack of his knees against tile before he could open his eyes and look down. Strong fingers hooked into the waistband of his pajamas, tugged, and his cock sprang free, full and hard and close enough to press into Brian’s cheek. Dom felt a surreal sort of distance from the image, too close to fantasies he’d had, and worried he’d wake up.
Brian dragged his tongue up the length of his cock, sucked it into his mouth, and no dream had ever felt that good.
Dom braced one forearm against the wall, the other hand sliding into blonde curls, not to push, just to feel the way they tangled around his fingers. Brian groaned and grabbed Dom’s ass, tugging, and he got the message loud and clear. If he’d had any doubt about whether Brian had done something like this before, it vanished as he started rolling his hips, fucking forward while guiding with the hand on the back of Brian’s head. He’d had whores who couldn’t take it so easy.
He nearly pulled Brian away, wanted to suggest that he not come until they were fucking, but Dom wasn’t sure if that was on the menu, and he thought he could keep himself occupied until he was ready to go again. The sight of Brian choking on his cock was too good to put a stop to it in any case. Blue eyes flashed upward to meet his. Petal pink lips stretched thin around him, shiny with spit, and Dom breathed, “I’m gonna come,” because he didn’t doubt for a second that Brian would take it.
When he came, his eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, his body twitching, knees going weak. Palms cupped around the back of them, holding him steady, and when Dom opened his eyes again, it was to the sight of his spent dick slipping free, leaving a mess behind on Brian’s chin.
“Fuck, Brian,” he breathed, pulling him up off his knees. Dom bullied him the last few feet into the bedroom, which was messy, but at least the covers were already off the bed. He felt more steady now, post-orgasm, and his fingers didn’t shake as he undid the fine, pearly buttons on the dress shirt. He ducked in, intending to put his lips to Brian’s neck, but stopped short.
There was a bite mark there, low on the edge of his collar.
Dom let out a slow breath and told himself off for the irrational stab of betrayal he felt. He instead ducked his head, moving his hands to Brian’s belt. He noticed, for the first time, that the pants didn’t actually fit him. The belt was doing too much work, the waistband bunched considerably beneath it.
He glanced up, saw Brian seeing him notice.
Just like that, the look of disorientation returned, like Brian couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here. He was breathing too fast, his eyes unfocused.
Dom put a hand on his cheek, ducked his head around to try to get in Brian’s eye line. “Hey,” he said, keeping his voice soft, because this wasn’t just weird, it was downright scary. “Hey, where you at, Brian?”
Brian blinked, mumbled, “Sorry. Sorry,” and he leaned in for another kiss that Dom dodged.
“Whoa,” he said, placing a hand flat on Brian’s bare chest. “Pump the brakes. Brian, we don’t need to do this right now. Where’s your head at?”
Like his knees had given out, Brian sat on the edge of the bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I want to do this,” he said, sounding frustrated. He hunched forward, fingers sliding through his own curls. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”
Dom’s eyes drifted to the bite mark, the too-big pants. He sat on the bed beside him and asked, “Was it a guy in Colombia?”
A sharp little, “Ha!” slipped from Brian’s mouth, but he choked on the end of it.
He tried another tact: “Whose clothes are those?”
“Carter Verone,” he said, like Dom was supposed to know who that was, and the name did – it tickled something at the back of his head, but he couldn’t place it. “The pants, at least. I grabbed them by mistake, didn’t notice ‘til I was on the plane, and I didn’t…” Shifting suddenly, Brian said, “God, sorry. This isn’t how I wanted this to go. I’m – I came straight here, you know? I got your address yesterday – or, day before yesterday – packed a bag, got on a plane…”
“It’s a long trip.” Dom picked up the excuse Brian was laying down, let him have it.
Brian stared at him, at his mouth. “I thought about it too,” he offered, voice soft. “I was worried you might still be pissed at me, after everything I did.”
Dom huffed. He probably should be. “I had some time to cool off.” The words What happened to you? threatened to leap from his lips, but instead, he said, “Do you want a shower? Water pressure sucks, but the heater’s solid.”
“Yeah,” Brian agreed quickly. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
Dom got him a towel and watched him shuffle into the bathroom, shirt still unbuttoned and half tucked into Carter Verone’s pants.
Colombia
A few days after he spilled his guts about everything that happened with Dom, about falling in love with his suspect and helping him get away, Brian overheard one of Carter’s men on the phone. His Spanish was mediocre, but he picked out un avion para el jefe, a plane for the boss, and a block of ice settled in his gut.
That night, Carter opened the door to the bedroom. Brian couldn’t say exactly what it was. They’d been doing this dance for five months, him sitting in the villa like a pet, some exotic bird, until his owner wanted to take him out to play with him. But Carter looked at him differently that night. Thoughtful, somewhere between regret and resolve.
Brian thought, this is it. He’d somehow expected this to go on longer. When this deal first started to take shape, it was nothing but a blowjob with a gun to his head. He’d thought then that it was nothing but buying time, waiting for an opportunity. There was no way Carter could let him go now, not with everything he knew. Not about the business, but about the man. He knew Carter Verone in a way neither of them planned for. He’d given up on escaping, but he supposed he never stopped thinking of it in those terms: buying time. Apparently, his credit had run out.
Setting aside his book, Brian scooted to the edge of the bed. It didn’t occur to him to run, mostly because it didn’t look like Carter was going to kill him right then and there.
Carter, in a practiced ritual he’d watched dozens of times, undid his cuff links and set them on the dresser. Took off his watch and set aside his wallet. Hung his suit jacket in the closet. He wasn’t wearing a gun. Then he walked to the bed, stepped between Brian’s open knees, and cupped Brian’s face in one hand.
Brian wondered if he planned to kill him with his bare hands. Maybe let him fight back. It was the sort of thing Carter would find fair or maybe he’d just get off on it.
He kissed Brian on the mouth.
In the awkward stunned seconds before he could respond, Brian realized they had never kissed before – not on the mouth anyway. Sure, they had done almost everything else two people could do with each other, but kissing had never come into the equation. It was a business deal. His body for his life. Punishment, in a way. Kissing had been more intimacy than Carter wanted, or Brian could afford.
When he failed to respond, Carter started to pull back, and only then did Brian rally his stupefied limbs into motion, pulling him back with a hand on his shoulder, kissing in eager invitation. If this was how Carter wanted to do it, their last night together, he would take it.
Carter kissed possessively, almost desperately, like it meant something. Like Dom might have kissed him, if they'd had the chance... Brian didn't think he'd ever get it now. He didn't think he'd ever get the fucking chance to kiss anyone again after tonight, so he decided to make the most of it, giving Carter back as good as he got, tongue and teeth, like they were trying to consume one another.
When Brian scrambled back on the bed, instead of crawling after him, Carter tugged his shorts off in one motion, leaned down, and took Brian’s stiff cock between his lips, and that was new, too. It was never about him, before. That night, as Carter took him apart with mouth and hands and cock, as he pressed Brian hard into the sheets and kissed him while he pressed inside, it was for Brian in a way that felt overwhelming after so long growing accustomed to their arrangement.
After, he lay quietly in Carter’s arms and half expected a hand to close around his throat. It didn’t. Carter kissed his shoulder, then raised up and kissed his lips, then said, “I have a meeting tonight. I’ll be late. Don’t wait up.”
Brian rolled to watch him get up, disappear into the bathroom. A late night meeting itself wasn’t unusual, but what to make of it in this context?
The shower turned on.
I’ll be late. Was he giving Brian a last chance to escape?
The water shut off. Carter emerged in a cloud of steam and dressed quickly, checking his watch as soon as he’d clipped it back on. Only then did he glance at Brian again, lips quirking strangely when he saw him watching. He crossed back to the bed, leaned over, and kissed him once more before he left.
The air barely cooled even in the middle of the night, but the birds in the surrounding jungle finally quieted somewhat. There was a huge roost of some kind of parakeet nearby that seemed to enjoy shitting on Carter’s cars, and they made a racket most of the day. Down below the balcony off Carter’s room, Brian could make out a couple of possums – cuter than the ones they got in the states – batting their hands in the pool water.
He didn’t leave.
The possums left. An owl took up watch somewhere nearby. The ones here in Colombia didn’t hoot but instead made a high ‘pip pip pip.’ The sky in the east started to shift, not quite brightening but getting ready to.
Behind him, the bedroom door opened. A few long minutes passed before the balcony door followed suit. Carter said, “What are you doing out here?”
Brian lifted a shoulder without looking away from the horizon. He was curled in one of the lounge chairs, feet tucked under him. “Couldn’t sleep,” he evaded, not sure if what Carter meant to ask was, What are you still doing here?
He would have to do it now, wouldn’t he? Brian had his chance, made his choice.
Carter moved behind him and a warm hand slid over his chest, easing down as Carter bent low enough to put his mouth at Brian’s ear. His other hand settled on his collarbone, just at the base of his neck. “What’s all this brooding about, hm?”
Brian decided to stop pussyfooting around it. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
The wandering hands froze. “Why would I kill you?”
He hesitated, suddenly not so sure of his read on the situation. “Because I didn’t leave.”
Carter pulled back and when Brian looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes were narrowed. In a harder tone, he asked, “Why the fuck would you leave?”
Oh, fuck. He’d gotten this all wrong. “You…” Brian fumbled, staring at Carter’s lips. He thought about mentioning the phone call, but didn’t want to remind him just how much he knew about the operation here. “I just – I thought maybe you were done with this. Like, saying goodbye. I thought, you know. You were giving me a chance to get away.”
Carter placed his thumb against Brian’s forehead and gave it a little shove. “You should stop thinking so much,” he said. “You’re not good at it.”
Then he bent forward and kissed Brian, slow and sensual in a way that set alarm bells ringing.
He’d been so sure this meant Carter was done with him. It meant something worse.
“When I want you to go,” he growled, “I’ll tell you. Until then, you better keep your pretty ass right here.” He bit Brian’s lip. “Understood?”
Despite the voice in the back of his head reminding him that there was no coming back from this, Brian twisted further, craning his neck to kiss back properly, running a hand up into Carter’s hair. The relief at knowing this wasn’t Carter getting rid of him – the opposite, in fact – and the sudden lifting of his solemn acceptance of death, the combination left him buoyant and buzzing with energy.
Brian started to turn, making to get up on his knees, but was pushed back down, pinned against the chair with a hand on his sternum. The hand slid downward, fingers dipping into the waistband of his shorts. Brian gasped into Carter’s mouth, noisy.
“What, you didn’t get enough earlier?” Carter murmured, almost chuckling. He pushed his hand into Brian’s shorts and wrapped it around his half-hard cock, giving it a testing squeeze. “Come to bed, we’ll see about that.”
By the time they woke, it had to be close to noon, the sun blazing bright through the balcony doors and the fucking parakeets making a racket. They weren’t what woke him, though. Carter’s arm was around his waist, mouth trailing kisses over his shoulders and neck. He liked to put love bites there that Brian had no reason to cover up.
They had sex a lot, but this was amorous even for them. Still, Brian didn’t do anything but gasp and shift his leg accommodatingly when Carter’s fingers brushed over his still-soft hole. One finger slipped in comfortably enough, teasing and tugging at his rim.
“Good morning to you, too,” Brian mumbled.
Carter huffed against the back of his neck, then leaned up to nip his earlobe. “Lube’s on your side.”
Brian passed it over easily, and soon slick fingers were rocking into him in a maddeningly slow rhythm that had him groaning softly against his pillow.
“Last night,” Carter said, his fingers never pausing. “You thought I was going to kill you if you didn’t leave. You stayed anyway. Why?”
It wasn’t exactly a turn-on of a topic. Brian glanced over his shoulder, not hiding his irritation. “Where the hell would I go?” he asked.
Carter pushed up onto an elbow, the fingers of the other hand still working, and kissed him on the mouth, as if to prove that it wasn’t a one-night fluke. Then he pulled his finger back and pressed into Brian in one slow, smooth stroke that stole the air from his lungs. His eyes had fallen closed, and when he opened them again, Carter was staring. “I love that look on your face,” he said.
Brian’s cheeks went hot, alarm bells ringing at the word ‘love.’