Collision Course

Collision Course 8: L.A.

Brian looked up from the Charger's open engine compartment at the small man approaching him. The stranger's form was outlined against the last rays of the setting sun. He was balancing a pizza on one hand like a waiter and carrying a six-pack with the other.

The guy looked vaguely familiar, but Brian couldn't place him. It wasn't until his visitor actually entered the shadowed interior of the garage and Brian caught sight of the amused greenish-brown eyes laughing at him from under the brim of the ball cap that he recognized his unexpected visitor.

"Tomas?" he asked in amazement.

The perpetually fashionable Tomas Drake was sporting a Dodger's baseball cap pulled down low over his brows to cover his hair and shield his eyes. He was unshaven; a day's growth of beard darkened his chin. He wore a very bright polo shirt of red, yellow, and blue, which hung, untucked, over a pair of loose fitting tan Dickies. Old and worn sneakers graced the small feet.

"Ah ... you did not know me?"

Brian shook his head slowly and grinned with admiration, Tomas had even walked differently.

"Good. Now, at last, do you understand why I have two Academy Awards on my mantel?"

Brian smiled at the vain and arrogant and talented little peacock. "How'd you get here?" Brian scanned the street in front of his house, looking for the limo.

"See that little brown car?"

"*You* drove that old Chevette?"

"But of course."

"And you brought pizza and beer?"

"Double pepperoni and Corona -- your favorites, no?"

"Yes," Brian said with a pleased smile as he gently, almost reverently shut the hood of the car. Then he took a soft cloth and wiped off the smudges his hands had left on the gleaming black paint.

"*This* is my competition for your time?" Tomas inquired as he looked over the length of the big, black car.

Brian became oddly uncomfortable and felt the need to get Tomas out of the garage and away from the car. He took the pizza box and headed toward the door that led between the attached garage and his small rental house. "You coming?" he asked.

Tomas grinned wickedly, but said nothing as he passed through the door that Brian held open. Brian took one more look back at the car before he shut the garage lights off and followed Tomas Drake inside.

"I thought I was supposed to have the night off," Brian said as he sat the pizza down on his coffee table and went into the bathroom to wash his hands.

"You do." Tomas' deep voice carried easily from the living room. "You are officially 'off-the-clock' as your boss, Mr. Rapito, put it."

Brian jerked his head up and stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He took a moment to think about the connotations of what Tomas had just said. Either Tony Rapito had given Tomas the same warning about sexual involvement that he had given Brian or else Tomas had inquired about it. Either way, by bringing it up, Tomas had opened the door. Now all Brian had to do was decide whether or not to walk through it.

When he re-entered the living room Tomas wasn't looking at him. The older man was studying the cap of his beer bottle with a quizzical expression on his face.

"It's a twist-off. Give it here." Brian took the bottle and with a soft 'snick' opened it and handed it back. "Do you need a plate or can you use your fingers?" he asked, motioning toward the pizza.

"I'm actually quite skilled with my fingers," Tomas replied with mock innocence.

They each grabbed a slice and Brian watched fascinated as Tomas lifted the oozing wedge high, opened his mouth, and lowered the steaming, cheese-dripping tip into it. Tomas bit off a big piece and began to chew. A drop of sauce escaped the corner of Tomas' mouth and left a reddish-orange smear on his unshaven chin - a smear that drew Brian's eyes to the dark bristles like a magnet.

He forced his gaze elsewhere and began to slowly eat his own slice.

"You were a police officer, no?" Tomas asked.

When Brian looked over at him, Tomas deliberately and methodically licked his fingertips clean. He looked like a cat, with his pink tongue flicking and his eyes crinkled with pleasure.

"Yeah." Brian watched as Tomas sucked on his fingertips, amazed that the normally fastidious man wasn't asking for a linen napkin. "But I'm sure you already know all about that."

"Mr. Noster *is* a fount of information."

"You know I got fired?"

Tomas lifted his cap off and ran his fingers through his flattened hair. The dark waves perked back up and gave him a younger than usual appearance. "I know the reason why, yes. The question I have for you is: does the reason still exists?"

Brian twisted open another beer and leaned back into the cushions of the couch. "It never existed at all. Only in my own mind."

"How long has he been gone, this reason of yours, a year?"

"Fourteen months." Eleven days and five hours, Brian added silently to himself, but who's counting?

"And not a single word? No messages?"

"No."

"The man is a fool and an imbecile. He's --"

"Straight," Brian added softly.

Tomas Drake, Hollywood power broker, rose to his feet. He seemed to rise up to the very ceiling as he towered over Brian. Gone was the casual man who had entered the little house bearing beer and pizza. In his place was the movie-mogul that could make even the most spoiled of actors tremble in their designer shoes.

"You mean to tell me you've been carrying a torch for a *straight*t man for over a year?" Tomas said in disbelief. "That you've wasted yourself on someone who is blind to anyone who doesn't sport rounded hips and jutting breasts? You are ..." Tomas sputtered to a halt, apparently at a loss for words.

"A weak idiot?" Brian supplied.

"No," Tomas' voice softened and he gracefully sank down onto the couch again. This time he pressed close to Brian. "I was about to say a romantic fool."

Tomas placed a tentative hand on Brian's chest. Slowly he slid it upward, until it cradled Brian's cheek. Gently Tomas turned Brian's head until their eyes met.

"He's still running from the law, no?"

"Yes," Brian said softly.

"He has a girlfriend?"

Brian nodded and dropped his eyes.

"He's never coming back for you," Tomas said simply, sadly, and convincingly.

Brian felt his throat tighten painfully and his eyes began to burn. He blinked and was startled to feel tears slide down his cheeks.

Gentle fingers wiped them away just before soft lips touched his own in a brief, comforting kiss. Tomas pulled away, but only as far as was necessary to get his arms around Brian's shoulders. "It's okay, Brian. I understand."

Brian let his head fall onto Tomas' chest and for the first time in his life, cried in another man's arms. Since he was a child, he had yearned for Leo's touch; yearned for some sign of father-son affection. Something other than being told that, "only girls cried."

When he was five and had broken his leg skiing, his father had told him to, "Suck it up and act like a man for once." When he was ten and wanted to join the school band, his father had told him that only sissies played musical instruments. So he had joined the Boy Scout's instead. When he was twelve, he mentioned soccer one day, and was signed up for football the next. When he was sixteen and wanted to take computer assisted design classes, Leo had scoffed and said that real men didn't play around with computers. He bought Brian an old Ford, a box of tools, and told him to get to work. In fact, the only time Leo had ever agreed with Brian's choice was when he enrolled in the Criminal Justice course at the local community college.

Tomas held him closely, rocked him, and slowly began to caress him. A deep voice whispered endearments into his ear. Gentle hands made comforting circles on his back and then moved to other parts of his body. Brian relaxed under a touch that was nowhere near paternal, a touch that was becoming more and more arousing as Tomas skillfully began to remove Brian's clothes.

Soft lips kissed his eyes, his brow, his mouth, his chest, his belly. Brian sucked in his breath when he felt those lips on his cock. He lifted his hips to allow Tomas to pull his jeans down lower and then groaned when he was swallowed down. Brian kept his eyes closed as Tomas went to work, using his hands and mouth and tongue and lips to make Brian come.

"You have such beautiful skin, Brian," Tomas said as he resumed stroking Brian's sweat dampened and still trembling flesh. "Tanned, but not browned -- gilded. It's as if even the sun loves to kiss you and leave its mark on you."

Brian felt the sting of strong suction as Tomas bent down and applied his mouth to Brian's abdomen, just below the ribs.

"There," Tomas said with satisfaction as he pulled his mouth away from Brian's flesh and inspected the red mark he had left on it. "I, too, have marked you with my kiss. Now you belong to me, just a little, no?"

"Tomas," Brian said softly as he lifted a hand to caress the dark waves. "I ..."

"Shush, my debauched darling," he said as he stood and smiled down. "We will talk tomorrow when you are able to think more clearly and I will expect an answer from you. One way or the other. You understand, no?"

"Yes, but you're not really leaving ... are you?" Brian asked in disbelief and disappointment. Had he done something wrong that Tomas didn't need his turn?

Tomas sighed deeply and pulled the ball cap back down onto his head. "There is an old saying in my country, 'Why buy the cow if the milk is free?' If you want to milk me, Brian, you must pay the price. I want commitment. I want a life-partner. Nothing less will do," he said coolly.

Too coolly.

Brian dropped his eyes to where the loose pants revealed the shape of Tomas' arousal, giving a lie to the actor's cool, collected attitude.

"You deserve a third Academy Award," Brian noted as he deliberately let his eyes linger on Tomas' groin. "Please, don't go." He lifted his eyes and held out a hand in invitation. "Stay and I'll --"

"*That* is why I want you, Brian. You see through all my tricks." Tomas groaned in real frustration. "I will survive going away unsatisfied. At least ... I think I will," he said with a gentle smile as he headed toward the front door. He opened it and paused to look back. "And I'm expecting the pay-off to be worth it." With that, he was gone and Brian was once again alone.

Alone.

"Wait!" Brian screamed as he hurriedly pulled his jeans up. He yanked at the zipper and managed to get it stuck halfway. He jerked on it again before giving up in disgust. He didn't even bother to look for his shirt; instead he rushed to the door and flung it open.

He was relieved to see that he was in time. The light from a nearby street lamp revealed the trim figure preparing to slide into the driver's seat of the Chevette. "Tomas!" Brian called out, making the man straighten back up.

Brian ran barefooted across the small front yard and surprised Tomas by taking his elbow in a firm grip and pulling him close. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Tomas in a soft and sweet goodnight kiss.

Brian took his time. He tasted expensive cologne, pizza, and ... himself on Tomas' lips. He explored slowly and gently, savoring the experience and the man he held close.

When Brian finally released him, Tomas sighed and slid limply into the car.

Brian shut the door and then leaned through the open window and asked, "Can we go back to the Moroccan place, the one with all the pillows, tomorrow night? I'd like to give you my ... answer ... there."

Hazel eyes darkened with desire at the implied promise in Brian's words. "Yes, yes," Tomas uncharacteristically stuttered. "Tomorrow night, no?"

"Yes," Brian said, pleased he'd been able to shatter Tomas' cool facade.

For a moment, Brian thought Tomas would get back out, instead he started the car and drove off. Brian stepped aside and then waved to the plain black car that pulled out after the Chevette. Larry Noster grinned back as he followed his boss home.

Brian stood a moment longer before crossing the yard toward the dark opening of the garage. He'd have to get rid of the car if he were going to move in with Tomas. Keeping it would somehow seem unfaithful and the memories that the car had helped to keep alive were too sacred to ever be sullied.

Brian hesitated in the opening of the garage. He could see the powerful shadow crouched in the darkness. Light from the street lamps reflected dimly off the headlights, making the car seem to stare accusingly at him.

"Don't worry, baby," he whispered to the powerful machine. "I won't sell you and I'll never get rid of you. I just need to put you away for a while ... 'cause Dom's never coming back and it's time I got on with my life."


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