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cimorenerichard dean anderson and michael shanks soaked to the skin in the cab of a truck. nc-17! wow, i haven't written one of these in a LONG time. pwp.
'it could be worse,' rick pointed out as they trudged away from the rental truck.
michael wasn't sure if it could be worse. it was minnesota in august. the air was damp and heavy. the heat was like a layer of molten lead that someone had poured on the ground. the sky was like a much lighter layer of dishwater poured on top of that. it was flat and dull and featureless, and it was right on top of his head, it was breathing down his neck. rick was mopping his forehead with a handkerchief for the fourth or fifth time as he spoke. their shirts were sticking to them with sweat, the clouds were coming lower, the air was starting to smell like rain, and they were a good six miles from the last gas station they'd passed.
his hiking boots were getting entirely too friendly with the gravel dust of the verge. he was going to be gray all the way to the top of his head--or brown. the dirt was brown where it stuck to rick with sweat, on his upper arms and the hollow of his throat.
'how could it be worse?' said michael.
'it could be raining,' rick shrugged.
michael looked up. 'you had to ask.' it started raining. the first drops were those ominous, heavy, widely-spaced plops. plop, three feet in front of him, plop, on rick's arm, splashing into a few little fragmentary drops. he followed the path of one with his eyes, on rick's skin, before he jerked his eyes up again.
'walk faster,' said rick. but the rain was keeping up. three plops at once. it was like popcorn in the microwave.
only faster. the fat drops were dancing down a little shyly, but sprinkling pretty well over the whole surface of the road. michael stopped and looked around to watch it. 'no,' he decided. 'run.' and he turned around and headed back for the truck, with hot raindrops trickling through his hair and down the back of his neck.
rick was running too. 'it could still be worse!' he said, raising his voice a little over the merry, leisurely drumming of the rain. it was just slow enough to make you think you could run faster than it.
the brand new f-150 was crouching innocently beside the road--in the distance, of course--like something direct from the factory that wouldn't dream of quitting on a deserted highway in the middle of minnesota. rather than answer rick, michael sealed his mouth and kept running. water broke gleefully on the short fringe of his bangs like on a dam, trickling down his face and following the seam between his lips. it tasted like the dust of the road. fuck, he'd thought it was far walking it the first time. he was going to be swimming in the cutoffs that had once been his favorite jeans by the time they made it to the truck.
but he didn't find out how it could be worse until he'd made it back to the truck. rick had the keys, of course. michael collapsed panting against the driver's door, which was closer to the road--which, come to think of it, running down it had not maybe been a good idea, but it was still pissing down like anything. his shirt was soaked through. rick's hair was plastered to his head, water running in his eyes as he blinked and fumbled one-handed with the keys. his other hand was on the door, where water was teasing the dust into the pendulous outlines of water drops snaking over the glossy red paint. the door finally opened and he practically shoved rick under the steering column, pushing in the center of his friend's back--sopping wet, blood-heat--with one hand, climbing in after him and dragging the door shut with the other hand.
then he stopped to breathe. one of his legs was folded up, his foot on the seat. it was probably going to leave a muddy footprint. there was a dark handprint in the middle of rick's t-shirt where his hand had pressed it against his back, which was presented to him presently because rick was apparently pretty winded from the run. his right arm propped him up on the bench seat, his head hanging limply. his free hand was lying loose on his thigh, pink in the palm. his left leg and michael's right were pressed together until he gave himself a tiny shake and sort of oozed across the seat to lean against the far window with a little groan.
he didn't feel so hot himself, but michael's eyes widened and he perked up at the sound. it was easy to take out of context--if out of context was the word. they were sealed up in a hot and damp bubble, dripping wet, with the windows about to steam over. god, it was nearly as hot as before, the rain making only a bare difference, and their body heat wasn't going to help matters anyway. the windows were sheeting shifting curtains of gray and silver for the moment, but that was going to change. he could see them starting to turn white already. the whole cab of the truck was like layers of wet steaming blankets. the air was heavy with moisture, and it was getting rank with musk and sweat.
michael folded his arms on the steering wheel, trying to ignore the way it stuck to his arms. then he put his head down, trying to ignore the fact that he could see richard splayed open like a centerfold from some dirty playgirl calendar in the other corner of the cab. his head tilted back, his throat stretched out, the neck of his white t-shirt stretched out of shape where he'd tugged at, richard was flushed, sweaty, and muddy, and reclining bonelessly with his legs apart.
'it could be worse,' rick said.
'we could take off our shoes?'
rick said, 'or we could be in florida, smartass.'
michael ruefully contemplated his ass. it was going to be hard to get the denim out of it, he suspected. the stuff was a permanent part of his skin by now, and it wasn't comfortable. he thought about florida, and all the ways this situation could be better or worse, and didn't really feel like talking about them, so he sighed. actually, he was having a really hard time thinking beyond the cab of the truck. cab of this truck in... florida? maybe the color outside the silver would be greener... he couldn't say he was tired, couldn't even say he wanted to leave. this was a day he was going to remember for years.
and how.
rick sighed too. out of the corner of his eye michael could see him bending his head, rubbing his face with one hand. 'yeah,' he said.
'yeah,' michael said too. he'd lifted his head before he thought about i and was probably staring, but there was nowhere else in the truck to look. every bit of black dashboard, silver window, and gray upholstery all bounced his eyes back to the center of the suffocatingly small space. rick shot him a penetrating stare down the length of the bench seat--laughable, really. length? their knees were still almost touching. 'rick?' he said, pretending to be confused.
he knew his skin wouldn't show it; he hadn't felt a flush like this since high school. his heart was still pounding. the veins were probably pulsing in his forearms, his temple; he could feel his blood rushing under the skin, he'd never felt this full of it, stiff and overheated, parched under the slick of dust and minnesota rain, breathless and--high. so surreal. his eyes were locked to rick's, and he could just see himself, in rick's face. the parted lips, the breath whispering on the lower lip, the creases of richard's brow, the pulse in the base of his throat. the same.
it was like they started running outside and never stopped. it was like they were running away from each other for a long time before today, and just when they couldn't run anymore, they came full circle and ran into each other so hard that all their motion stopped, and they were knocked over.
and now they were lying here in the dust together, silent and purposeful, desperate, maybe angry, as michael pushed away from the door and slid from under the steering wheel, right into the V of richard's thighs, the narrow corner of the cab where he was propped against the window. he even opened his mouth and moved it, but michael could tell there were no sounds coming out with whatever words he swallowed, pushing his face cautiously in against rick's. their noses bumped a little, a tiny hesitation and slid past, the stubble on their cheeks scraping. michael's lips parted, his chin tilted and he found rick's mouth.
it was hot. he was hot, they were hot, all over, hotter than the sun outside, hotter than the water. it was unbelievable that he relaxed so easily into that heat, melting into rick from collarbone to hips. the clammy lukewarm hot of his clinging wet clothes evaporated between them. rick's skin was as comfortable as his own, and his kiss tasted like the rain trickling over michael's face outside, sweat and the dust of the road commingled with the faint tingle of the rainwater. his hands started on michael's ass through the jeans, and michael made an inarticulate noise of plea or approval in his mouth. when they slid up to the frayed waistband they were probably wetter than before, his clothes were so soaked.
there wasn't room in the truck to do this properly, that was the sure thing. he had one knee wedged under richard's leg, pressing into the nylon carpet on the bottom of the door, the other leg grasshopper-folded on the seat at a horrible angle, rick's hands gently guiding his hips closer. rick was as hard and hot as he was. fingernails traced crescents on each hipbone while he struggled to get his hands under the thin cotton skin of rick's t-shirt. wet, it stretched instead of tearing. the fabric was slipping between his fingers and he couldn't get his hands across the smooth expanse of rick's back underneath. this time when richard's mouth moved against his lips he could taste every letter. it was his name. 'michael.' he bit the 'l' off of rick's lip and pushed his fingers through the thatch of still-crisp hair on the strong thighs, under the edges of his shorts.
they were doing this, one way or the other. rick's legs had gone stiff and taut under his fingers, and he tried to take a deep breath and lean back to let him undo the button fly. but he didn't pull back for a moment before he leaned back into a kiss, mouth open, licking lasciviously at the subtle undercurve of rick's upper lip, with his hands fumbling with the stubborn buttons between them. he pulled away once, twice, again and again, two times and two times more. their mouths were sticky with dirt and sweat and the hot steam in the cab like all their skin, clinging together. michael kept coming back, kept closing his eyes, even when the buttons were undone and his hands slid like a dream under rick's shirt in the front, bunched it all the way up under his arms.
they couldn't get the damned things off, his shorts or rick's, but they got them out of the way somehow, anyhow, and pressed and rubbed themselves together, skin on skin. 'oh,' said rick, 'yeah--'
the hair on his chest scratched michael's peaked nipples. the muscles in his stomach were tense, tight, leaping to the touch. michael could feel all over the print, the shape of his body where they were pressed together in a thousand, a million separate sensations, neck, collarbone, his arms with the wet t-shirt bunched under them, the eager jump of his dark swollen cock between them. that's where his hand went, a millisecond after richard's, in a hot tangle of dicks and the smell of sex strong enough to knock you out, with their hands shaking. but somehow they were managing--
michael closed his eyes and opened his mouth on rick's shoulder and held on--he had one of rick's wrists in his hand, somehow, squeezing it hard enough to leave bruises or, it felt like, to snap the bones. his mouth was full of sweat and dirty water and the muscle and tendon straining between rick's neck and his shoulder with his boot unlaced and mostly off, his toes spread wide and curling, a cramp high up in his other thigh. and his whole body drowning away to one hot, brilliant, breathless ache that he couldn't sate, couldn't thrust hard enough, close enough, into the sticky heat of his hand and rick's hand.
his teeth closed on muscle and tendon. 'god,' rick gasped. his body curved forward and went limp. for an instant he thought he was going to cry, but he came--they both came, all the fight and all the motion draining out of them and leaving them bloated and sated and transfixed by the damp air, the smell of what they'd done, and the words they weren't saying yet.
michael opened his eyes, made himself look up and meet rick's. now he could breathe, he reached over the powerful shoulder tied in its twisted band of wet white cotton to make a thumbprint in the condensation on the window. well, one of them had to start. he looked at the mussed hair, the smudge of dirt under one eye. rick shifted his weight just enough to free himself from the shirt. michael fought his way out of his own without making any effort to shift his weight from pinning his friend to the seat. he braced his hands and brought their faces close again when they were free, and took a breath, because one of them had to start if they were going to lie here together where they'd finally fallen. 'so,' he said.
rick said, 'so.'
'this isn't exactly a new thing,' he said. a smile twitched the corner of richard's mobile mouth.
'it's not a new thing,' said rick, and gave michael a deep, searching look. 'and i guess i'm through with running.'
'
'it could be worse,' rick pointed out as they trudged away from the rental truck.
michael wasn't sure if it could be worse. it was minnesota in august. the air was damp and heavy. the heat was like a layer of molten lead that someone had poured on the ground. the sky was like a much lighter layer of dishwater poured on top of that. it was flat and dull and featureless, and it was right on top of his head, it was breathing down his neck. rick was mopping his forehead with a handkerchief for the fourth or fifth time as he spoke. their shirts were sticking to them with sweat, the clouds were coming lower, the air was starting to smell like rain, and they were a good six miles from the last gas station they'd passed.
his hiking boots were getting entirely too friendly with the gravel dust of the verge. he was going to be gray all the way to the top of his head--or brown. the dirt was brown where it stuck to rick with sweat, on his upper arms and the hollow of his throat.
'how could it be worse?' said michael.
'it could be raining,' rick shrugged.
michael looked up. 'you had to ask.' it started raining. the first drops were those ominous, heavy, widely-spaced plops. plop, three feet in front of him, plop, on rick's arm, splashing into a few little fragmentary drops. he followed the path of one with his eyes, on rick's skin, before he jerked his eyes up again.
'walk faster,' said rick. but the rain was keeping up. three plops at once. it was like popcorn in the microwave.
only faster. the fat drops were dancing down a little shyly, but sprinkling pretty well over the whole surface of the road. michael stopped and looked around to watch it. 'no,' he decided. 'run.' and he turned around and headed back for the truck, with hot raindrops trickling through his hair and down the back of his neck.
rick was running too. 'it could still be worse!' he said, raising his voice a little over the merry, leisurely drumming of the rain. it was just slow enough to make you think you could run faster than it.
the brand new f-150 was crouching innocently beside the road--in the distance, of course--like something direct from the factory that wouldn't dream of quitting on a deserted highway in the middle of minnesota. rather than answer rick, michael sealed his mouth and kept running. water broke gleefully on the short fringe of his bangs like on a dam, trickling down his face and following the seam between his lips. it tasted like the dust of the road. fuck, he'd thought it was far walking it the first time. he was going to be swimming in the cutoffs that had once been his favorite jeans by the time they made it to the truck.
but he didn't find out how it could be worse until he'd made it back to the truck. rick had the keys, of course. michael collapsed panting against the driver's door, which was closer to the road--which, come to think of it, running down it had not maybe been a good idea, but it was still pissing down like anything. his shirt was soaked through. rick's hair was plastered to his head, water running in his eyes as he blinked and fumbled one-handed with the keys. his other hand was on the door, where water was teasing the dust into the pendulous outlines of water drops snaking over the glossy red paint. the door finally opened and he practically shoved rick under the steering column, pushing in the center of his friend's back--sopping wet, blood-heat--with one hand, climbing in after him and dragging the door shut with the other hand.
then he stopped to breathe. one of his legs was folded up, his foot on the seat. it was probably going to leave a muddy footprint. there was a dark handprint in the middle of rick's t-shirt where his hand had pressed it against his back, which was presented to him presently because rick was apparently pretty winded from the run. his right arm propped him up on the bench seat, his head hanging limply. his free hand was lying loose on his thigh, pink in the palm. his left leg and michael's right were pressed together until he gave himself a tiny shake and sort of oozed across the seat to lean against the far window with a little groan.
he didn't feel so hot himself, but michael's eyes widened and he perked up at the sound. it was easy to take out of context--if out of context was the word. they were sealed up in a hot and damp bubble, dripping wet, with the windows about to steam over. god, it was nearly as hot as before, the rain making only a bare difference, and their body heat wasn't going to help matters anyway. the windows were sheeting shifting curtains of gray and silver for the moment, but that was going to change. he could see them starting to turn white already. the whole cab of the truck was like layers of wet steaming blankets. the air was heavy with moisture, and it was getting rank with musk and sweat.
michael folded his arms on the steering wheel, trying to ignore the way it stuck to his arms. then he put his head down, trying to ignore the fact that he could see richard splayed open like a centerfold from some dirty playgirl calendar in the other corner of the cab. his head tilted back, his throat stretched out, the neck of his white t-shirt stretched out of shape where he'd tugged at, richard was flushed, sweaty, and muddy, and reclining bonelessly with his legs apart.
'it could be worse,' rick said.
'we could take off our shoes?'
rick said, 'or we could be in florida, smartass.'
michael ruefully contemplated his ass. it was going to be hard to get the denim out of it, he suspected. the stuff was a permanent part of his skin by now, and it wasn't comfortable. he thought about florida, and all the ways this situation could be better or worse, and didn't really feel like talking about them, so he sighed. actually, he was having a really hard time thinking beyond the cab of the truck. cab of this truck in... florida? maybe the color outside the silver would be greener... he couldn't say he was tired, couldn't even say he wanted to leave. this was a day he was going to remember for years.
and how.
rick sighed too. out of the corner of his eye michael could see him bending his head, rubbing his face with one hand. 'yeah,' he said.
'yeah,' michael said too. he'd lifted his head before he thought about i and was probably staring, but there was nowhere else in the truck to look. every bit of black dashboard, silver window, and gray upholstery all bounced his eyes back to the center of the suffocatingly small space. rick shot him a penetrating stare down the length of the bench seat--laughable, really. length? their knees were still almost touching. 'rick?' he said, pretending to be confused.
he knew his skin wouldn't show it; he hadn't felt a flush like this since high school. his heart was still pounding. the veins were probably pulsing in his forearms, his temple; he could feel his blood rushing under the skin, he'd never felt this full of it, stiff and overheated, parched under the slick of dust and minnesota rain, breathless and--high. so surreal. his eyes were locked to rick's, and he could just see himself, in rick's face. the parted lips, the breath whispering on the lower lip, the creases of richard's brow, the pulse in the base of his throat. the same.
it was like they started running outside and never stopped. it was like they were running away from each other for a long time before today, and just when they couldn't run anymore, they came full circle and ran into each other so hard that all their motion stopped, and they were knocked over.
and now they were lying here in the dust together, silent and purposeful, desperate, maybe angry, as michael pushed away from the door and slid from under the steering wheel, right into the V of richard's thighs, the narrow corner of the cab where he was propped against the window. he even opened his mouth and moved it, but michael could tell there were no sounds coming out with whatever words he swallowed, pushing his face cautiously in against rick's. their noses bumped a little, a tiny hesitation and slid past, the stubble on their cheeks scraping. michael's lips parted, his chin tilted and he found rick's mouth.
it was hot. he was hot, they were hot, all over, hotter than the sun outside, hotter than the water. it was unbelievable that he relaxed so easily into that heat, melting into rick from collarbone to hips. the clammy lukewarm hot of his clinging wet clothes evaporated between them. rick's skin was as comfortable as his own, and his kiss tasted like the rain trickling over michael's face outside, sweat and the dust of the road commingled with the faint tingle of the rainwater. his hands started on michael's ass through the jeans, and michael made an inarticulate noise of plea or approval in his mouth. when they slid up to the frayed waistband they were probably wetter than before, his clothes were so soaked.
there wasn't room in the truck to do this properly, that was the sure thing. he had one knee wedged under richard's leg, pressing into the nylon carpet on the bottom of the door, the other leg grasshopper-folded on the seat at a horrible angle, rick's hands gently guiding his hips closer. rick was as hard and hot as he was. fingernails traced crescents on each hipbone while he struggled to get his hands under the thin cotton skin of rick's t-shirt. wet, it stretched instead of tearing. the fabric was slipping between his fingers and he couldn't get his hands across the smooth expanse of rick's back underneath. this time when richard's mouth moved against his lips he could taste every letter. it was his name. 'michael.' he bit the 'l' off of rick's lip and pushed his fingers through the thatch of still-crisp hair on the strong thighs, under the edges of his shorts.
they were doing this, one way or the other. rick's legs had gone stiff and taut under his fingers, and he tried to take a deep breath and lean back to let him undo the button fly. but he didn't pull back for a moment before he leaned back into a kiss, mouth open, licking lasciviously at the subtle undercurve of rick's upper lip, with his hands fumbling with the stubborn buttons between them. he pulled away once, twice, again and again, two times and two times more. their mouths were sticky with dirt and sweat and the hot steam in the cab like all their skin, clinging together. michael kept coming back, kept closing his eyes, even when the buttons were undone and his hands slid like a dream under rick's shirt in the front, bunched it all the way up under his arms.
they couldn't get the damned things off, his shorts or rick's, but they got them out of the way somehow, anyhow, and pressed and rubbed themselves together, skin on skin. 'oh,' said rick, 'yeah--'
the hair on his chest scratched michael's peaked nipples. the muscles in his stomach were tense, tight, leaping to the touch. michael could feel all over the print, the shape of his body where they were pressed together in a thousand, a million separate sensations, neck, collarbone, his arms with the wet t-shirt bunched under them, the eager jump of his dark swollen cock between them. that's where his hand went, a millisecond after richard's, in a hot tangle of dicks and the smell of sex strong enough to knock you out, with their hands shaking. but somehow they were managing--
michael closed his eyes and opened his mouth on rick's shoulder and held on--he had one of rick's wrists in his hand, somehow, squeezing it hard enough to leave bruises or, it felt like, to snap the bones. his mouth was full of sweat and dirty water and the muscle and tendon straining between rick's neck and his shoulder with his boot unlaced and mostly off, his toes spread wide and curling, a cramp high up in his other thigh. and his whole body drowning away to one hot, brilliant, breathless ache that he couldn't sate, couldn't thrust hard enough, close enough, into the sticky heat of his hand and rick's hand.
his teeth closed on muscle and tendon. 'god,' rick gasped. his body curved forward and went limp. for an instant he thought he was going to cry, but he came--they both came, all the fight and all the motion draining out of them and leaving them bloated and sated and transfixed by the damp air, the smell of what they'd done, and the words they weren't saying yet.
michael opened his eyes, made himself look up and meet rick's. now he could breathe, he reached over the powerful shoulder tied in its twisted band of wet white cotton to make a thumbprint in the condensation on the window. well, one of them had to start. he looked at the mussed hair, the smudge of dirt under one eye. rick shifted his weight just enough to free himself from the shirt. michael fought his way out of his own without making any effort to shift his weight from pinning his friend to the seat. he braced his hands and brought their faces close again when they were free, and took a breath, because one of them had to start if they were going to lie here together where they'd finally fallen. 'so,' he said.
rick said, 'so.'
'this isn't exactly a new thing,' he said. a smile twitched the corner of richard's mobile mouth.
'it's not a new thing,' said rick, and gave michael a deep, searching look. 'and i guess i'm through with running.'
'
