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Rest Stop	By : suz Category: G through L > Invisible Man Views: 1500 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Invisible Man, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-ReststopDisclaimer
- 1
Title: Rest Stop

Author/pseudonym: Suz

Fandom: Invisible Man

Paring: Bobby/Darien Rating: NC 17 for adult concepts, language

Status: new/complete

Archive: WWOMB okay, all others ask

E-mail address: suzinsf@gmail.com

Series/Sequel: sequel to Wet Dream, Snow Day

Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, makin' no $. Neither are the idiots at NBC/Uni who don't know a good thing when they see it. Morons.

Notes: My take on the old cliché; stranded, wet, two boys, one bed… part 3

The

Invisible Man

"Rest Stop"

Darien is asleep with his head in my lap. It’s still raining down here in the lowlands, but the sound of tires on wet pavement and the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers is sort of cozy. I take one hand off the steering wheel to stroke Fawkes’ head, curling a little strand of his hair around my fingers, glad we’re out of the mountains finally, and on a nice straight interstate so I don’t have to worry about taking a curve or having some deer jump right out in front of me. Only thing I have to worry about now are the fair weather motorists I’m sharing the road with. You’d think after an El Nino winter, they’d be used to driving in the rain. But no. Instead, they’re driving like a bunch’a Florida retirees in the snow. I know better than to push my luck after the last three days, so instead of practicing my defensive driving, I just go with the flow. I can’t say it’s that big a hardship when it means I can play with Darien’s hair. I thread the fingers of my right hand into the silky thatch, letting the even rhythm of my caress send him deeper into sleep while I think about the past hour or so, before Darien started nodding off in his corner and asked if he could lie down. In my lap. How the hell was I supposed to say no?

It’s been an interesting few days, I gotta admit. Wrecking the van, getting stranded in the mountains for two days, falling in love, not exactly your average mission. Even the part that actually WAS the mission wasn’t average. F&G had called in a favor with the Fat Man to send a couple of his boys up to check on reports of another Sasquatch around Lake Arrowhead, so we got elected. When Fawkes and I finally got out of Running Springs under our own power and headed up to Arrowhead, we really weren’t in the mood to do much investigating of anything besides each other. It took all my ‘bad cop’ attitude to keep Fawkes on track while we were talkin’ with the Forest Service naturalist, who was doing her best to flirt with him. The way he ignored her only seemed to egg her on, and by the time we finally got out of there with the plaster casts of bizarre-looking footprints, photographs of the tracks and the little evidence baggies with tufts of rusty brown fur, I was havin’ a hard time keepin’ a straight face. I finally started to crack up once we were back in the van, and Darien gave me that kicked puppy look. I laughed harder.

"What?" he whined, doing the hurt feelings thing with total conviction. "Why’re you laughing at me?" he asked, sulky.

"‘Cuz you’re a frickin’ tease! You ever let me make a fool of myself like you let that poor Ranger do, I’ll smack you upside the head," I warned him, still chuckling.

"What? Waddid I do?" he pouted.

"See, that’s the thing. You did the same thing to the waitress at the Orchid Lounge and didn’t even know it. ‘Course, I’d be pissed at you if you teased them like that on purpose," I informed him.

"I didn’t do anything!" he defended himself unhappily.

"Yeah that’s the problem, there, Romeo," I laughed again. "At least from their perspective. Man, it’s no wonder you never got any action till you jumped my bones."

His lower lip came out and he scowled, refusing to meet my eyes. "I didn’t jump you," he muttered. "’Sides… you came back for seconds," he pointed out.

"That I did, my friend, that I did," I agreed comfortably. "And thirds, and fourths," I added with a grin at him, and he couldn’t help grinning back. "But you’re still a tease. You gotta at least clue in and flirt a little on purpose so you can let ‘em down easy, there, Fawkes, or the gig’ll be up pretty damned quick."

"What gig? And I thought it was ‘jig’. The ‘jig is up’," he snarked, slumping in his seat so he could wedge his knees up against the dash like a sulky kid.

"Gig, jig, whatever. The point is -"

"Oh, there was a point?" he started in on me, wiseass to the core.

"You meant besides your pointy head?" I snarked back. "Yeah, there was a point. And that’s that if we wanna keep the fact that we’re gonna be spending most of our off-duty time together on top of what we spend on the job, then you’ve at least gotta act like you’re interested in scoring."

"We are?" he grinned back at me again, eyes bright with happiness. Which was when I realized it was something I hadn’t seen very often before. I made a promise to myself right then that I’d do my best to make sure it was there a lot more often, from now on.

"We are what?" I asked, a little distracted by the curve of his smile and the sudden impulse to kiss him.

"Gonna be spending our off-duty time together," he reminded me.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Unless you’ve changed your mind about what happened between us the last coupla days, yeah. I’m pretty much goin’ on that assumption there, Duke," I grumped, knowing he was teasing me a little.

"Duke?" he asked, amused.

"You prefer Horatio?" I asked sarcastically, and he laughed again.

"You ever watch I Spy?" he asked me.

"Bill Cosby, Robert Culp, mid ‘60s or so, right?" I answered. "Good show. Better than most of the spy junk that was on then."

Darien nodded agreement. "Yeah. And Bill Cosby was always calling Robert Culp’s character ‘Duke,’" he informed me. He went silent for a minute. "You think they played them straight?" he asked me curiously.

"Straight how?" I asked, not picking up on what he was getting at right away.

"As opposed to… you know…" he trailed off.

"No I don’t ‘know’, Miss Cleo," I answered, still not getting it.

"Like us," he said. "Gay. Lovers. I mean they slept in the same room, they never went anywhere without each other, they’d have killed or died for each other… just like us."

I thought about that for a minute, fighting down the reflex denial him using the word ‘gay’ to describe us brought up. "I gotta tell you, Fawkes, I don’t think about us as gay. More like straight, with exceptions." I glanced at him, trying to see what his reaction to that was gonna be.

"‘Straight with exceptions’," he grinned a little. "So that’s what you call it," he said contemplatively.

"Well think about it, Fawkes. Yeah, so you didn’t have a lot of choice inside. But since I’ve known you, the only bed partners I’ve seen you show an interest in are of the female persuasion," I reminded him.

He blushed and looked away, staring uncomfortably out the window.

"What. You’re telling me you slept with other guys in between Casey, the Mermaid, Doctor Kate and Mei-Lin?" I asked, a little shocked.

I was surprised he didn’t start in on the old argument that he’d never slept with Kate. Instead, the blush got a little darker and he wouldn’t look at me, which I took to mean yes, he’d slept around. With other guys. I wasn’t ready for the surge of jealousy, and I had to swallow hard to loosen the tightness in my throat. "So why didn’t you let me in on it?" I asked as blandly as I could, when what I really wanted to do was grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. "I hope you at least used condoms," I added.

"Yes, I used condoms," he whinged. "Geeze, you sound like Claire," he complained.

"What, you talked to Claire about this, but not to me?" I asked, shocked all over again.

"Well, she’s my doctor, isn’t she?" he asked rhetorically, a little snippy. "Even now that the QSM is gone, she still plays doctor with me. And she’s given me an HIV test every six months since I started at the Agency. I guess she figures that between life in the joint and life with needles, I’m a prime candidate. Besides," he added, glancing at me quickly, "that kinda sex can leave plenty of evidence if you know what you’re looking for. And Claire’s no fool."

I chewed on that for a bit, working out how to answer without flying off the handle at him. "We’re partners. Right?" I asked tightly.

"Right," he replied warily.

"Partners do for each other. Right?"

"Right…" he conceded even more warily.

"So why didn’t you talk to me about stuff, huh?" I demanded sharply. "Why’d it have to get so bad you had to jerk yourself off against the back of my leg two nights ago instead of just being up front with me?"

He flinched a little and retreated into the corner of his seat against the passenger door. "That's a low blow, Bobby. You know I didn’t do that on purpose," he defended himself weakly. "But what the hell was I supposed to tell you, huh? That I’ve been having wet dreams about you for over a year? That all I’ve wanted is to get you into bed for that long? Let’s get real, here. You’d have kicked my ass all over San Diego!"

"You don’t know that!" I snapped, angry, jealous, hurt that he hadn’t even given me the benefit of the doubt.

"Let’s just call it an educated guess," he argued, getting mad himself. "I mean, look at how you flipped out when I kissed you!" he reminded me, and I had to make an effort not to cringe.

I concentrated on driving for a few seconds as a tractor trailer rig tried to merge into us, obviously not seeing us in the gray mist that all the car tires were kicking up on the slick freeway. "Ok. You’re right. But you’re the con man here, Fawkes. You’re used to selling people on stuff, right? I’d’a thought you could have found a way to work up to telling me what was going on with you. We’re friends."

Darien leaned his temple against the glass of the passenger side window, heaving a sigh. "That’s exactly why I didn’t have the guts to talk about it with you," he admitted. "What if…. What if you’d wigged out on me and just walked away from the whole partnership? I was pretty sure I’d lose you completely if I told you how I feel about you, you know? And man, there’s no one straighter than Bobby Hobbes. So how was I supposed to just bring it up in casual conversation that I like getting fucked as much as I like fucking? And that there’s something about being with another guy that gets me off in ways that being with women just doesn’t?" He glanced at me with unhappy defiance.

I scowled at the rainy gloom outside. "So maybe you’re right. Maybe I’d’ve freaked out a little. At first. But you gotta know how much I care about you by now, right? I think I’d’a come around, Fawkes. It’s not like you’d be the first bi friend I’ve ever had, you know."

"I just couldn’t take that chance, Hobbesy," he sighed heavily again. "You’re pretty much the only thing that’s made the last two years bearable. Every other relationship in my life has gotten screwed up… And the last thing I wanted was for this one to go south on me, too."

I thought about that for a minute. "Then you gotta stop making assumptions," I told him. "And you gotta start talkin’ to me about stuff. No matter what it is. If we’re gonna make this work the way both of us want it to, then there can’t be any more crap like not letting me know important stuff about you. It’s part of you, Fawkes. And I love you." It seemed weird to say it out loud here, somewhere on a rain-shrouded section of I-5. It was a whole different ‘I love you’ then the sweaty balls-deep declaration of love I’d made before with the smell of sex and damp clothes perfuming a cheap motel room. More real. Less impulsive. Scarier. But it was as true now as it had been back up in the mountains. Loving Fawkes wasn’t something I had any choice in any more. It was part of me now. Like loving Viv. Or Claire. Which made me think about something he’d said. Or not said.

"So. What’d Claire say when you told her you, uhm, liked guys, too?" I knew it was kinda prurient, but I wanted to know.

"She asked when I was gonna tell you," he answered glumly. "She also asked me how long I’d been in love with you…"

"Oh, crap," I muttered. "So she knows about us, huh?" I asked him, knowing the anxiety was coming through loud and clear.

Darien laughed softly. "There was no ‘us’, then, Hobbesy," he pointed out dryly. "There was just me. Your average lovelorn Invisible Man, with a bad case of the hots for my oh-so-straight partner. But like I said, she’s no fool. She’ll figure it out as soon as she sees me touch you. Hell, she’ll probably be able to tell as soon as we walk into the Keep together."

"You think?" I asked, uncomfortably curious. There was weird feeling in my belly, thinking about Claire. She was the one I’d been fanaticizing about maybe getting involved with, somehow, someway. I didn’t quite know what that did to my feelings for her now, now that Darien and I had something going on. She’s still a beautiful woman, and I’m still attracted to her. Hell. Ok, I’d sleep with her in a second if we didn’t work together… "I’ll make you a bet," he smiled. "I’ll buy you the thickest steak in town if it takes her longer than a week to figure it out, once we get back."

I thought about it for a minute, resenting that he thought we’d be that transparent about it. "Ok. It’s a bet. But no fair trying to seduce each other anywhere on Agency premises. No necking, no holding hands, no nothing. Got it? So what do you want if you win?"

His slow grin told me exactly what he wanted: me. "Besides that," I clarified.

"Cook me dinner," he said suggestively. "You know, something… special." Like it was seconding the motion, his belly rumbled, and both of us laughed.

"Like what?" I wanted to know. "Cheese burgers a la mode?"

"Try Hobbesy a la mode," he grinned. "I know you can cook, so just surprise me," he proposed. "You have a week to think of something from the minute we get back to the Agency."

"What makes you so sure I can cook?" I asked suspiciously. When his belly rumbled again, it was all I could do not to give him a bad time about his appetite. I’d given him the little box of Valentines’ chocolates when we started down the mountains, and I’d watched him eat the whole thing in about 15 minutes like it was one long food orgasm or something.

He snorted. "Give me a break, Hobbes. There’re no frozen dinners in your freezer, you have a spice rack, for god’s sake, and there were real live vegetables in your refrigerator. And butter, and eggs, and you want the whole grocery list?"

"You went snooping in my fridge?" I asked indignantly. "What the hell were you looking for?"

He ducked his head a little. "I wanted to know what kinda beer you drank?" he offered halfheartedly.

"Right. Like you don’t see me order the same thing every time we go out drinking together." My opinion of that feeble excuse must have been pretty obvious. "More like you were casing out my freezer to see if I kept anything valuable in it," I bugged him, and he blushed.

"I found your wedding ring," he mumbled, embarrassed.

I glared at him. "That’s personal stuff, there, Fawkes." I wondered if he’d found the diamond engagement ring Viv’d given back, too. Or my mother’s antique amethyst ring and matching necklace and earrings. There were even a few choice unset diamonds from my granddad’s days as a diamond merchant in the diamond district in New York in the ‘40s. "Just can’t help yourself, can you, my little thiefy friend? Gotta case a joint, just in case something tasty pops up, right?"

"You should put that stuff somewhere else, Bobby," he said seriously. "That’s one of the first places a thief will look."

"You should know," I answered sarcastically.

"Yeah, I should," he snapped back, annoyed. "You’ve got at least sixteen carats in unset stones, and some nice antique stuff that I assume means something to you. So take my word for it. Put it somewhere else if you want it to stay safe."

"Maybe I’ll hire you to find it a safer place," I suggested wryly.

"Try a safe deposit box," he responded, half serious.

"Nuh-uh. That’s my safety net. In case I ever needed to disappear for a while, you know? In case of emergencies? Liquid assets. Has to be somewhere I can get to it easy or it kinda defeats the purpose."

He eyed me with a frown. "Why would you have to make a run for it?" he asked me, confused.

"It hasn’t been an issue lately, but back in the day, if you were an overseas operative in the CIA, it paid to have a little something stashed somewhere just in case. Saved my ass more than once. And there’s only so much help you can expect to get from the schmucks back at Langely. Sometimes, it’s safer to count on yourself, first," I explained.

He stared at me as if I’d grown a third eye or something.

"What?" I asked. "What are you lookin' at?"

"You’ve been out there alone a long time, haven’t you?" he asked gently, and that was the first time it dawned on me that he could see the scars on me as easily as I could see them on him. A coupla lonely, isolated guys, invisible to everyone but each other. No wonder we clicked.

"Yeah," I agreed with a shrug. "Long enough."

"Not any more, Hobbes," he said firmly and reached across the bench seat to touch me. Reassurance for both of us. He lay his arm along the top of the bench seat and stroked me with his fingertips real gently, almost unconsciously. Back and forth, in tiny little circles around the top of my shoulder.

What amazed me is just how reassuring it actually was. It was also the first time I realized that it’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt alone with Fawkes around. I think the last time was when he took a little vacation at the FBI just after Claire cured the madness. It was sort of a protest against the Fat Man’s willingness to treat Fawkes and the gland like so much property. I can’t say I blame him, since the ‘Fish was threatening to remove it, even if it killed Darien. Not that I’d’ve let him touch a hair on Fawkes’ fluffy head…

But anyway, the point it is, that touch on the shoulder, totally innocent, was the moment I realized that this was meant to be. Since the day Fawkes tracked me down in Mexico on the Fat Man’s orders, everything in my life has been moving towards this. Darien has slowly turned into the center of my universe. What’s so cool about it is that so far, it isn’t the same panicked obsession that I felt for Viv. It’s a certainty that goes cell deep: Darien Fawkes will be there for me. No matter what. The fact that we’ve just added sex to the picture is gravy. Because I’d spend the rest of my life with him without it. Sex is something you can get anywhere. Love isn’t. At least not for me. And I don’t think for Fawkes, either.…

Don’t get me wrong. The sex is great. Damn, it’s fantastic. It’s kinda nice to have partner with a libido that meshes up with mine. A guy thing, I guess. We can get interested any time, anywhere. Like now. With Fawkes’ head in my lap… I shift back into the here and now as memories of the half-dozen blowjobs he’s given me in the past two and a half days make me harden up all over again. My dick is like an iron rod against the back of his head, every little unevenness in the road jiggling us just enough to drive me nuts.

My breathing starts to get ragged, and I can’t help the moan as Darien shifts a little in my lap.

As if he can somehow sense me, or hear me, or something, he opens his eyes and looks up at me, that sweet little smile hovering on his mouth. "Mmmmm. Bobby."

"Yeah, babe," I manage hoarsely.

"Love you."

"Love you, too," I tell him, almost breathless.

"Fuck me," he suggests, and I fall in love all over again with the man who made me not care about the stuff that the rest of the world usually thinks is so damned important.

"What, you take up mind reading now?" I tease him, lifting my hips a tiny bit to bump the back of his head with my dick. "‘Sides it’s kinda hard to fuck you while we’re on the road, smart guy."

"So pull over," he suggests with a Fawkesy grin as he turns his head to nuzzle me.

It must be divine intervention or something, because in the gray twilight of a rainy late afternoon outside Laguna Niguel on the I-5, I see the freeway sign for a rest stop. I signal and move over so I can take the exit. "Whatever you say, partner," I grin down at him as I start to slow down and merge right.

He laughs softly against my cock and the vibration of that chuckle almost brings me off. I bring the van to a jerky stop in a parking spot right in front of the restroom as Darien starts to fumble with the button on my jeans. "Wait, wait," I beg as he starts unzipping me.

"Why?" he asks, ignoring me and licking me through my boxers.

"Cuz unless you stole a towel from the motel, we’re gonna need a little something for personal hygiene, my friend," I point out with a groan as his tongue slips inside my boxers. "And we’re down to the last condom, wiseguy," I remind him.

"One’s all we need, baby," he laughs and sits up, zipping me up but not buttoning me. "We can pick up an economy sized box when we hit town… So we can start making a dent in it tonight." His smug smirk as he slowly unfastens his own jeans has me waffling on whether to belt him or forget the towel issue and just fuck him senseless this second.

"You’re a prick, Fawkes," I inform him, a little strangled sounding even to me as I watch him free himself slowly, like a striptease, only just limited to that cock of his. It’s almost as hard as mine, starting to darken and the low light is enough to gleam off the precum beading at the tip. "Oh, god…" it just slips out, and both of us are totally clear on how close I am to losing it.

"I want you, Bobby," he whispers with a smile as I open the driver's side door and stagger out into the rain and race for the restrooms.

It doesn’t take me more than a second to grab a double handful of paper towels, but I stop long enough to plop a quarter into the condom dispenser on the wall by the urinals, just in case…

I scramble back into the van to find the front seat empty. "Fawkes?" I inquire, the surge of adrenaline making me panic that leaving Darien alone for even that minute or two was enough to leave him vulnerable.

He sticks his head out from the back section of the van, his hair sticking up in soft spikes that make me want to get my hands into it. "Right here," he assures me. The fact that he’s stripped off his jeans and briefs tells me he’s as ready as I am.

I clamber into the back of the van over the bench seat and grab my partner so I can get my mouth on him, getting a double handful of the red flannel shirt I bought for him in Running Springs. He’s unbuttoned it, and it and the socks are the only things he’s wearing. I drag him into range and kiss him hard and deep, feeling his arms come around me, one hand lacing through the hair at the back of my head. "You fucking prick tease," I scold him as I come up for air. Like he’s trying to prove me right, he slides his hand down my back to cup my ass, moving the other hand to the second cheek. He pulls me gently against his thighs and my own cock throbs and aches with the same want I’ve felt since we first stumbled into bed together. "Fuck," I gasp as I feel his dick hot against my belly.

"Any time you’re ready," he invites, smoothing his palms over my waist to my fly and slowly easing my jeans down a few inches.

My breathing is shaky and shallow, and I take over from him, shoving the denim down past my ass along with my boxers. He grins as he strokes me. The only reason I don’t come on the spot is cuz his hand is tight around me.

"Easy there, tiger," he grins down at me, and then releases me gradually. It’s slow enough that I can just keep from losing it. I step back a bit, breathing hard, and hand him the condom I just picked up, ignoring the quirked eyebrow.

"Fawkes," I rasp at him, my voice rough. "Put it on."

He’s determined to turn it into part of the seduction and when he finally gets the latex out of the packet and slowly rolls it down along me, it’s an unbelievable rush to feel his touch. He finishes putting it on and kisses me lightly as he reaches past my shoulder to grab the tube of lube he left within reach.

When he straightens, he hands it to me and runs a fingertip along the edge of my jaw. His eyes are dark in the gloom, and I caress his chest. His nipples are already tight with the chill of the weather outside, but nothing can bank the heat between us, and he moans at my touch.

"Bobby," he sighs softly as I settle my hands on his hips and turn him around, using my knee to nudge his legs apart. He grabs hold of the edges of the doorway into the van’s cockpit.

"Fawkesy," I whisper as I kiss him mid-back between the shoulder blades, the flannel soft against my lips. I squeeze a glob of lube into one hand and drop the tube onto the floor of the van as I reach between Darien’s legs to slick him up. His thighs and ass are beautiful against my hand, tautly muscled, silky-skinned. Just touching him is unbelievable; heartbreaking, exciting, sweet like first love. I guess in a way, it sort of is. It’s sure the first time I’ve felt like this about another guy. I swear I’ll ask him about all his past loves someday. All of them. I wanna know who else he’s felt like this about. Hell. Even here, now, ready to fuck him like he wants, I’m jealous of him. I know that’s part of who I am, that jealousy. I don’t like it, but I can’t help it. Instinctively, I’m possessive, defending what I think of as mine. And Darien is mine. Like no one else ever has been. We’re on the same wavelength in ways I’ve never felt with anyone else. "Darien…"

"Please," he whispers into the humid air. "Hobbes, please."

I ease a finger into him, a second, the third, and flick the tip of my middle finger against the bulge of his prostate. He bucks under me, moving deeper onto my fingers as he gasps. I pull free of him and then shift him slightly, making him flex his knees so I can get to him. "Darien," I whisper as I feel him through the thin second skin of latex. I penetrate him slowly, slow enough to make both of us a little frantic, until I’m in past the tight ring of muscle. He takes it out of my hands and forces himself back against me, impaling himself on me, and I grab his hips, holding him still as I withdraw and then ram into him. It’s a straight out animal fuck, fast, hard, no tenderness, just need. We aren’t making love, we’re fucking. And for the 90 seconds it takes us to finish, him thick and sticky over his own belly and my hand, me filling the condom in shuddering, panting spurts, we’re one mindless being.

I drop against his back, the scent of flannel and my own damp cotton shirt filling my nose along with the scent of our bodies. I can feel his ragged breathing as his ribs move in and out as he gasps, my own breathing raspy and irregular. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve done this in my life, the instinct about nothing more than release. It’s a mating. Simple, basic, instinct over intellect. Darien Fawkes is as much my mate as I am his.

I curl my arms around his waist, holding him as the last tremors shake us then let us go. "Dammit, Fawkes, I fucking love you!" I inform him, half-pissed, half-desperate.

He lays his hand over the one I have still gripping his softening cock. "That’s a bad thing?" he whispers, looking back over his shoulder at me, his eyes gleaming and dark with desire that has nothing to do with the fact that both of us have just come like Mount St. Helens. He caresses me, gentle, sweet, the same instinct that just had us fucking like rabbits. "I love you too," he assures me. "We gotta get a bed in here, Bobby."

I laugh. Desire is a drug. And I’m starting to hope for a lifetime of addiction. I’ll find a way to make Golda into a love nest so Fawkes and I can get as down and dirty or as hearts-and-flowers romantic as we want from now on. I wish to god we were home, able to curl up together the way we did in Running Springs. I pull free of him and he straightens, turning around to face me, curving one hand against my cheek while I wipe mine on his shirt, then use the tails to wipe his belly, ignoring the wad of paper towels on the floor of the van. "Let’s go home," I suggest as he reaches down and rolls the latex off me, then kneels. "Oh, crap," I add as he licks me.

"No more condoms," he makes a face. "At least not the spermicidal ones," he adds. "You’re damned sweet, Bobby. This kinda wrecks it." Unhappily, he uses his shirt to blot me off, carefully gentle.

"Fawkes!" I grip his shoulders and get him on his feet, crouching in front of him to do my version of KP as I lap his half-mast dick clean of semen. He draws a shaky breath or two and damned if he isn’t starting to harden up again. It really has been too long since he got laid regularly. "Save it, babe," I smile up at him and stand, dragging my pants back up and looking around for his.

They’re tangled up against the bulkhead near the door back into the cockpit, and I grab them, tossing them to him. "You’re making me cold just looking at you," I grin at him as he snatches them out of the air. "Get dressed."

"Yes, mom," he snarks as he pulls them on.

It’s fifteen minutes or so before we’re back on the road. We’re still about an hour outside of San Diego, and the closer we get to home, the more I start wondering just how the past and the future are gonna mesh. Are we really gonna be able to make this work?

I mean, which place are we gonna call home? His? Mine? Both? And how are we gonna keep it quiet at the Agency? I can just see the ‘Fish finding a way to use us against each other if he gets wind of the fact that we’re involved. More than we were three days ago, I mean.

"You’re brooding," he says as I head back up the ramp onto the freeway.

"Whaddaya mean?" I snap at him defensively.

"‘Brooding: a somber emotional state,’" Darien says, and I can tell he’s quoting someone. "C’mon, Bobby, this is me. What’re you worrying about now?"

"What was that? Carl Jung?" I ask, trying to distract him.

"Try James T. Kirk," he smirks at me.

"Give me a break. Now you’re quoting Star Trek?"

"Hey, it’s a classic," he defends himself. "Kirk is God."

I snort. "Kirk was a misogynistic martinet with delusions of grandeur," I disagree.

Darien glares at me. "You’re dissing a cultural icon, Hobbes!" he protests. "Kirk is a hero! And Spock loved him," he adds, the glint in his eye letting me know that we’re about to launch into one of our usual squabbles.

"Oh puh-leese," I shake my head. "Kirk and Spock were like brothers. Not like us."

He frowns. "We are so. Like brothers, I mean. No one else means as much to me as you do," he argues.

"Fawkes, we’re partners. Partners! Not brothers; lovers. Friends. Special. You can’t pick your relatives, Darien. You know that," I remind him. Of anyone, he should know… You’re stuck with relatives. The family you’re born into isn’t something you can pick and chose like a library book. But partners… that kind of partner, that you can choose. He’s chosen me. I’ve chosen him. It’s not brotherhood. It’s way more than genetics or fate or happenstance. It’s choice. Our choice.

But I’m not bargaining for the pain in his eyes as I deny that filial connection. I stare back. "Fawkes. You wouldn’t fuck your brother."

"Kevin?" his expression says it all, and in case there was any doubt, the shudder punctuates it.

"See?" I say.

He thinks about it, and I can see the battle he’s fighting. He hasn’t let anyone get close to him for a long time. Maybe since Liz Morgan got her claws into him. I really gotta ask him if he thought of her as a sister… or as a partner. I’m pretty sure she’s responsible for the left turn his life took as a kid. The fucking bitch.

Great. Now I’m jealous of her, too. But I swear, if I ever run into her again, I have a few questions for the lady. For god’s sake, she was at least 15 years older than him. He wasn’t even fourteen when they met.

"Bobby?"

The tentative tone penetrates my musings. "You don’t fuck family, Fawkes," I say forcefully.

When he answers, it’s a statement. "Maybe not, but you are my family. Pretty much all I got left. You think there’s anything I won’t do for you? Anything? I love you, man. With everything I got." He goes quiet, then turns that puppy dog look on me. "I’d do anything for you."

Like I wouldn’t do the same? God, I’d die for him. I might even be able to live for him. Holy fuck. Dying is so easy. Living is hard. So damned hard. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as the bottom sinks out of my stomach. That’s how close to the edge I’ve been walking. It’s weird to finally realize how much I’ve been hurting only when it stops. I’m willing to fight for this. For Fawkes. For what we may have together. Jesus.

Holy.

Fucking.

God.

That’s what this is all about. I really am in love.

My eyes start to blur. I blink rapidly to clear my vision, trying to get a grip. I’ve been living for him for almost two years without even knowing it. His life is so goddamned important to me that I’m willing to live with everything I am, everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done, to keep him safe. To give him a shot at doing what I know he can. Making a difference. Fuck. Holy god…

And you’re what I live for, Fawkes. I glance at him, then flick my eyes back to the road, the blur of rain compounding the blur of my vision. How the hell did I get here? How the hell did I wind up in deep water without ever diving off the company pier? Darien. Darien Fawkes is my reason for being. Fuck. And instinctively I know that is gonna freak him out like it freaked my ex-wife. Freak him so bad he’ll run screaming in the opposite direction.

I refuse to look at him again.

"Bobby."

I focus on the road, thinking about Viv, about obsession, about all the ways there are to love someone. I’ve found my mate, only to lose him because I can’t control the intensity of what I feel for him. What I see the future being.

"Bobby." He’s more insistent.

Me, obsessing about his safety, his life, his happiness, and I can’t help it. Goddammit! It’s like Viv all over again. I can’t do this. Not again. Love someone to distraction - theirs, and mine. Panic flutters in the middle of my chest as my belly tightens. I’m barely focusing on the road in front of me, and I nearly don’t see the SUV that cuts us off with a plume of water spraying up over the windshield of the van like a burst from a fire hose. "Shit!" I curse and react instinctively to get out from behind the sonovabitch, the van hydroplaning into the next lane as I overcorrect. Golda wobbles wildly in an erratic series of swerves as I try and bring the vehicle back under control, and Fawkes is thrown up against the passenger door hard enough to drive a grunt of pain out of him.

"Pull over!"

It’s not a request. There’s recognizable fear in his voice.

I’m shaking. My hands are trembling on the wheel, my muscles shivering with the same kind of panic attack that hit me when he kissed me for the first time three days ago. "I’m alright," I tell him, sounding just about as far from it as it’s possible to get.

"No you’re not," he disagrees, reaching out to touch me. "Pull over!"

Suddenly impotently furious, I wrench the wheel hard over and break to a sliding, fishtailing stop on the shoulder of the road, a death grip on the steering wheel. I bend my head and rest it on my knuckles where they’re gripping the wheel, breathing slowly, trying to keep from hyperventilating.

I feel Fawkes free himself then unfasten my seatbelt, releasing me from even that small restraint. Then he rests his hand lightly on the back of my neck, caressing me with the same gentle comfort as the touch on my shoulder a few hours ago, the one that got us here in the first place. "Talk to me, Hobbes," he murmurs softly. I can barely hear him over the drumming of rain on the roof of the van. "What’s happening with you?"

I can’t concentrate on breathing and talk at the same time so I just keep breathing, trying to diffuse the panic attack to something like a reasonable level.

"Bobby. Just breathe, ok, man? Just breathe. Nice and slow. Easy, pal," he keeps up a running commentary like he’s talking to a kid, or an animal, using the tone of his voice like a tranquilizer or a security blanket, and slowly, way too slowly, it starts to help. He runs his hand up and down my back carefully, keeping it light. "Whenever you’re ready, Bobby."

That’s the problem. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to go through another relationship implosion like the one with Viv. To need someone like I did her. And now Fawkes. It’s just not safe to love someone this much. Not safe for me, or for him.

"Just talk to me, babe…."

"We can’t do this. I can’t. Not again." I say, not even sure what ‘this’ is, except that whatever it is, I’m afraid it’ll kill me to lose it.

"What?" he asks softly, his hand never stopping in its travels up and down my back. "What can’t we do?"

I raise my head to glare at him with something like desperation.

"Love each other?" he asks. "Too late, Hobbes. You’re my best friend. You’re my partner. You’re my family. Whatever that means…." His smile isn’t his usual cocky grin, it’s a bittersweet expression. Tender. Agonized. Oh fuck… "Family is the only thing I’ve ever wanted, Bobby, and it’s the only thing I’ve never been able to steal," he says quietly, and I realize he’s working through his own stuff at the same time he’s holding my hand.

"I was never good enough to get people to love me. Ever. I never did figure out why my dad walked out on us, but it had to have been at least partly my fault," he sighs. "I must’ve been a punk then, too. That’s the only thing I could ever figure out."

"Like hell, Fawkes. You were a kid! You were what, five? You tell me what the hell a five year old can possibly have done to make your dad leave!" I’d met Mason Fawkes less than 18 months ago, and I know the sonovabitch made his own choices, for his own reasons, and none of them, not one, had anything to do with Darien. If it had, he’d never’ve left in the first place. Fuck. Abandoning a five year old and an eight year old, not to mention the woman you’ve supposedly promised to spend your days with? No way he ever loved them, the bastard. And now I’m sitting here listening to Fawkes blame himself for whatever it was that made his father leave, and I start realizing we’re coming at this relationship thing from pretty much the same place. Only I know Darien isn’t responsible for the way his family disintegrated after his father left. Not like I am for the way my marriage ended…

He shrugs reluctantly, the saddest expression on his face as he looks at me. "I’ve never been good enough for anyone, Hobbes," he announces, and my blood runs cold at the casual matter-of-factness in his voice. "Kevin, hell. I always embarrassed him, him and my Uncle Peter and my Aunt Celia. And my grandmother never even stayed in touch, you know? And my mom died. She left me alone with my brainiac brother who kept trying to think his way out of believing she was gone. I think when she died, that was the last time I was ever sure someone loved me, until you blew into my life. Don’t walk away from me now, Bobby," he whispers… "Not you, too…."

Fawkes. Shit. I’ll never leave you, you bastard. No matter how much what’s going on with us scares me. "Darien." I reach over and grab him by the chin. "I’m not leaving you. Not as long as you want me to stay. As a friend, as a partner, any old way." I lock eyes with him, trying to force him to get where I’m coming from. "But I’m not gonna lie, here, right? I’m a nut case. It made my wife leave me. I-"

He just looks at me, eyes liquid, this total confidence in me, and I stop, staring back at him. "She walked, Darien," I remind him. "I made her life miserable, and she walked."

"I won’t," he states. And I know he’s serious. He thinks he knows what he’s getting into with me… Thinks he knows what ‘obsessive’ looks like on me. I’m just not sure he’s ready for the real thing; Bobby Hobbes in full-blown possessive mode is someone he hasn’t really met yet.

"I’m not leaving," he reiterates, his way of arguing with the unspoken thoughts rattling around in my head.

I look back, swallowing the worst of the panic. "I’m not either." Because I can’t. I need him too much.

"Good," he smiles at me and grips me lightly at the nape, shaking me a little. "So… Now that we’re on the same page, how’s about getting this show on the road?" he asks, the cocky punk in him making a reappearance. He refastens his seatbelt and eyes me expectantly. I shake myself out of the sort of dazed aftermath of the panic attack and start the van again, rolling down the driver’s side window so I can actually see the traffic roaring past us well enough to rejoin it. A little like life, I guess. Gotta roll down the window once in a while to really get a good look at it. I glance at Fawkes once we're back in the flow of cars southbound on the I-5, catching him watching me. His expression is sort of a mix of amusement and affection and all I can say is, I hope he’ll still look at me that way when I’ve gone all possessive on his ass a few times.

Possessive.

On his ass.

Damn. I laugh quietly. Talk about Freudian slips…

"What?" he asks. "What’re you laughing about now?"

I glance at him, then back at the road as I roll the window up to keep the rain from soaking me. "Don’t worry, partner, you’ll find out," I assure him, concentrating on getting us home so I can make good on that promise.

"Oh c’mon, man," he wheedles.

I ignore him, instead thinking about all the ways I can get possessive. That should keep both of us out of trouble for a good long while…

End (?)
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