the fast and the furious fic, yo.
A SQUID EATING DOUGH IN A POLYETHYLENE BAG IS FAST AND BULBOUS.



keep it loose, keep it tight
Brian/Dom || 2400 words || G








Many thanks to bkm5191 for looking this over. Drunk beta is the best beta.




“Shit.” Some beer spills when Dom cracks the bottle open, trickling down the gaps between his fingers; he wipes his hand on the back of his jeans. The second one overflows too, like someone had shaken the bottle before putting it in the fridge. Letty does that sometimes, picking a few bottles at random and shaking them in a weird-ass version of Russian roulette. She’s got herself more times that she has any of them, but Dom’s not going to point that out.

He takes the Coronas with him, two bottles dangling from his fingers as he walks through the house. There are people milling around and the music is so loud Dom can feel the thrum of the bass in his bones. He steps over Leon and Letty, both sprawled on the floor and engrossed in San Andreas. Letty calls Leon a fucking dickwit and Leon calls her a tight-assed bitch. It’s the only time he can get away with shit like that because Letty’s too focused on the game to pay attention.

Vince salutes Dom with his bottle over some brunette’s back. She’s curled in his lap, long hair falling down the smooth expanse of her back. Dom can almost feel the heat of her skin, can almost smell her perfume. He slaps Vince on the shoulder as he passes by, mutters, “Way to go, man.”

The garage is open and lit like a Christmas tree. Brian’s feet are sticking from under the Supra; the sole of his left shoe is starting to peel off. “Hey, man,” Dom says, “Chill a bit, will ya?”

Brian rolls the dolly out, fingers wrapped over the edge of the chassis. “Yo, what’s up?”

“There’s a party out there,” Dom says, handing him the beer, “and you’re hiding out here working on a car. That’s unhealthy.”

Brian accepts the bottle with a grateful smile and downs half of it in one go. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a dark trail of grease on his skin. “Exactly what I needed, man,” he says with a bright grin, rolling the dolly back and forth a couple of times. The music from the house is still audible but barely. It’s mostly just the heavy thump of bass and the occasional uproar of people cheering over something.

“So, what are you up to?” Dom asks, leaning against the side of the car. The bottle is sweating in his hand and against his t-shirt where he’s cradling it to his stomach. There’s not much left in it but the glass is still cool.

“I’m almost done.” Brian says, setting the bottle aside and rolling back under the car. His voice is muted when he says, “Pass me the spanner?”

Dom fishes for it in the toolbox only to find it lying on the floor next to it. He taps Brian’s thigh with it and puts it in his hand.

“Thanks. Fuel injection kept getting cut over five-six k, it was pissing me off.”

“Tried the pump?” Dom squats down next to Brian’s legs, and takes a long pull of his beer, finishing it off.

“First thing I did, man. Nothing. My bet’s on the limiter, that’s what I’m doing now. If it doesn’t help I’ll get Jesse to recalibrate the rev meter. Okay,” Brian grunts, and there’s a clank of the wrench against the concrete. “All done.”

The dolly rolls out again reavealing Brian’s smudged face. He gets up with a grunt, rolling his shoulder back. “Fucking hell. I’m too old for this.”

Dom laughs. “Whiny bitch.”

“You’ve just set an opening for a shitload of ‘your mom’ jokes, you know that, right?”

Dom gives Brian an indulgent smile, running his hand over the hood of the Supra. The lacquered surface is cold and smooth beneath his palm. “Shut up, Spilner. Let’s take her for a ride.”




They ease the car off of the blocks, and Dom puts the hood down. He watches Brian as he cleans up perfunctorily, biting his tongue not to laugh. Brian borders on compulsive when it comes to his car.

Brian fires up the engine and it comes to life with a low, soft rumble. “Get in, Toretto. We’re not gonna wait on you forever.”

Brian eases out of the garage like it’s driving lesson. The wheels don’t screech on the asphalt, there’s no burning rubber; nothing. Dom buckles up and Brian grins at him. “Afraid to ride with me?”

“Shitless,” Dom says, his face impassive. Brian laughs, and his foot gets heavier on the gas. The car is gaining speed slowly but Dom can already feel the inertia pushing him into his seat. His muscles relax just like that, entire body surrendering to the pull.

Then Brian floors it. His hand on the gear shift is lax but precise. Always precise.

What’s going on the road is by no means a rush hour but there are some cars cruising at what is not really a leisurely pace either. Brian manoeuvers the Supra in between them, leaving no more than literally a few inches of space when he passes by. There’s honking and someone flips them off through an open window.

Riding shotgun is not exactly in the top ten of things Dom likes best in his life. Mostly, it’s annoying because it’s somewhere between being the passenger and being the driver, right there but not quite. What you see is pretty much the same; what you can do is a whole different story. Even riding backseat is better because at least you know precisely what you are. You’re a passenger, with no control over what’s going on. Up front it’s different, it’s easy to get fooled.

There are only a few people that Dom rides shotgun with – Vince, Leon, sometimes Hector. He doesn’t do it with Letty, ever. She's a good driver - objectively he knows that - but she’s too impulsive, too rapid to make decisions that aren’t always good. Brian’s like that, too – he’s downright fucking crazy, that’s what he is – but there’s something about him that makes it easy – easier – for Dom to trust him when he’s behind the wheel. With Brian though, it’s not about being out of control and struggling with it. It’s about giving the control up, and giving in.

Dom’s fought all his life not to let anyone take the control from him, and fought hard. With Brian though, it’s just something that happens. Even the first time, when he had saved Dom’s ass from the cops, telling him, I’m your good grace, it hadn’t felt like that much of a stretch. And it’s not like Dom had had a choice then, really, but to get in the car with him – but still. Still.

“What are you waiting for, Arizona?” Dom says, looking at the empty expance of road in front of them as they climb up the ramp for the freeway. “Show me whatcha got.”

Brian glances at him and grins, bright and challenging. “This not good enough for you, Toretto?”

Dom can feel the pull when Brian shifts to fifth, gaining speed with minimal delay. The engine purrs like a satisfied cat. Dom laughs. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

It’s maybe a couple of miles later when there’s flash of red and blue behind them, a siren wailing. The lights reflect in the rearview mirror, painting Brian’s face in demented smudges. Brian chuckles. “Aww, shit.”

“We’re not over fifty six hundred yet, are we?” Dom asks, turning around to look through the rear window.

“Nope,” Brian confirms, voice cheerful.

“What you did down there better be the right thing.”

Brian gives him a manic grin. “Let’s see.”

It’s just a matter of seconds before the police car starts falling back. It’s a factory car, speed limit and all, and it doesn’t stand a chance with a souped up Supra. Brian speeds up a bit, and changes gears. Nothing weird happens - the car doesn’t start slowing down, just keeps gaining speed, slowly but steadily. The engine hums, a low rumble that makes Dom’s entire body vibrate at the same rate. Brian’s thumb hovers over the NOS button. Dom wonders if the cylinder is even loaded.

“Nah,” Brian says, “Let’s play fair.” He reduces gears, lets the police car come level with them. It’s barely 70 mph when it does, drawing closer with a sound of a run-down engine.

“It’s never been fair play in the first place,” Dom says, shaking his head at the two policemen, mock-sad. Brian laughs, speeding up again with no remorse. He weaves his way through the bustle of cars on the middle lane, then cuts right in front of a silver Corvette on the left lane. Fifth gear, sixth, and they leave it far behind.

Brian hoots, thumping his hand against the steering wheel. It makes the car swerve a little, and Brian laughs, putting it back in gear with a gentle flick of his wrist. Blood rushes in Dom’s ears, kind of painfully. He lets out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and grins at the front window. “I guess it was the limiter, after all.”

Brian looks over at him with a brilliant smile. His breathing is faster than normal, a little shallow, eyes bright. Dom likes that look on him.

Brian’s still riding his adrenalin rush when he takes the exit off the freeway a couple miles later and pulls over after another minute or two of driving along the promenade. He gets out of the car with an exclaimed, “Fuck yeah!” that echoes in the silence of the night like a gunshot. Dom leans against the railing that’s separating the boardwalk from the beach and watches Brian as he stretches, reaching his hands over his head. Dom can see the hard line of his dick against the denim of his jeans. Brian’s completely unashamed of it as he walks over and hops on the railing, facing the ocean. “Man,” he laughs, shaking his head.

Brian thigh is pressed against Dom’s side and he’s so close Dom can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell the sweat. The air is warm but the breeze is picking up, brushing over the damp skin of Dom’s back in a cool puff.

“You gonna stick around for Race Wars?” he asks, looking up at the overpass where a couple of kids on bikes are making their way up.

Brian’s voice is drawled-out, lazy, when he says, “I’m not going anywhere, man. Besides,” Brian laughs a little, “Mia says you own me.”

Dom tips his back a little to glance at Brian. “Do I?”

Brian gives him a sideways look, his grin wide and eyes challenging. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

And there it is, he’s doing it again. Fucking flirting with Dom. He does it sometimes when he’s high on adrenalin, reckless and pushing, always pushing. Occassionaly, he’d do it when they’re working on a car, with people around and it’s easier to ignore him then, easier to just laugh it off. When they’re alone though Dom sometimes feels the urge to push back, see how far Brian would let him take it, how far he’d go before chickening out.

Dom supposes it might be a lot further that he gives Brian credit for. “I own your car. With you, it’s more like lease.”

It’s quiet for a moment, then Brian laughs, bright and easy. “It better be long-term, Toretto. Like I said, I ain’t going anywhere.”

Dom pushes himself off the railing. “Good.” His body feels heavy, sated. He doesn’t want to move. “Come on, Spilner, let’s get going.”

Brian hops off the railing without any protest, the soles of his shoes thumping lightly on the asphalt. “You wanna drive?”

Dom shakes his head. “I’ve had a couple more beers than you, I’ll pass.” There’s stupid and there’s stupid. Dom’s not a fan of the latter.

“Okay, then.” Brian grins. “Get in. Your chariot awaits.”

This time Brian drives just a little over the speed limit. He keeps looking over at Dom like he’s waiting for Dom to tell him to cut this shit, to drive at what the car’s been made for. Dom just leans against the door and doesn’t say a word, just to spite him. He feels good, sleepy and kind of horny despite it.

He laughs when Brian finally breaks, mutters, “Fuck this shit,” and floors it. Dom looks out the window on the passenger side, letting the lights and the colors blur right in front of his eyes, tangled smudges as they drive faster, faster.



Brian parks out front this time, right beside Jesse’s Jetta. Dom stretches, looks at him questioningly.

“Gotta be at Harry’s in three hours,” Brian smiles mournfully, the engine still running.

“Like that’s stopped you before,” Dom says, getting out of the car. There’s a scent of barbecue floating in the air and Dom’s hungry all of a sudden.

“Nah, man. I gotta get some sleep. I’m beat.”

“Okay, then,” Dom lets go. He leans against the door briefly before shutting it. “I’ll see you around.”

Brian laughs. “You bet.”

Dom stands in the driveway watching until the taillights of the Supra disappear behind the curve of the road.

“What’s up with Arizona?” Vince appears at Dom’s side, beer bottle in hand. His speech is a little slurred and he himself is far past the line of ‘tipsy’, edging straight into ‘shitfaced drunk’. The antipathy in his voice is still loud and clear though.

“Nothing,” Dom says, throwing an arm over Vince’s shoulders and hauling him back into the house.

Letty’s in the kitchen, mixing drinks. She looks up with a smile when she sees him. Dom crowds her against the counter, murmurs, “Hey, babe.”

She goes pliant against him in an instant, tipping her head back and letting him trail a wet line up her neck with his mouth and tongue. She’s soft and smells like soap and citrus shampoo, clean and warm.

Dom can still feel the rumble of the engine at the base of his spine when she rides him, up in his room, the sheets tangled around them. His hands are firm on her hips, guiding her and setting the rhythm until her every move is exactly what he wants.

Until he’s in control again.