Phoenix-sometime after the race
Dale yawned and stretched as he slowly untangled himself from Michael’s lanky form. His mouth felt as dry as the endless desert outside and he padded quietly as cotton on cotton to the kitchenette of his coach. The night air had become chilly and he shivered slightly as he poked around in the fridge for one last elusive beer that somehow escaped the mass consumption of its companions. Pausing to take a peek out the window, he marveled at the brilliant moon that cast a pale glow to the desert outside. Mountains loomed black against an endless canopy of stars while cacti and their shadows stood like silent sentries. Somewhere a coyote howled balefully.
“Mmmroaaww” Junior glanced down as he felt Bud’s fat, furry body squeeze around his calves. The big cat gazed up at his human, then at the fridge, purring loudly.
“Ssshhh….ok I’ll feed yer face now, so you won’t bug me in the mornin’…” he muttered as he emptied the remains of a tin of minced chicken into Bud’s bowl. He smiled as he watched the big Manx contentedly munching away; one final scratch behind the ears and he made his way back into the bedroom.
Meanwhile, Michael had monopolized the bed; sprawling out spread-eagle snoring loudly. Dale sighed and situated himself in a over-sized chair, gazing at his lover. It had been a spectacular night-he had come so close to winning. So close, Dale had lost focus on his own run as he visualized the 15 passing the 97 on the last lap to take the checkers. Alas, a frantic, last minute lunge was thwarted by the wall and fickle victory had smiled on the Roush machine once again. Still, it was an event, a turning point for a struggling driver whose luck had finally turned the corner and Dale smiled as he remembered the sweat-soaked kiss in the Napa hauler that kicked off this evening’s celebration.
Dale shook his head, admiring Michael’s lean, muscular body as he took a sip of beer. He reflected on the various ups and downs of their rather tempestuous relationship over the course of the past year or so. The demands of that damnable title of superstar and all the trappings that went with it and the price that nearly cost him the one who owned the key to his heart. Stupid decisions, thoughtless, ill-timed words and the tramp named Kortni (and her harpy of a mother) that briefly turned his world upside down. Carelessly referring to Michael in an interview as “something of an Uncle” was the last straw and Michael, appropriately, went a bit ballistic. Even though disclosing the true extent of their relationship would be disastrous to say the absolute least, trivializing it as belittling Michael as a step-Uncle was a stab in the heart.
A confrontation ensued after the crew had departed the Bud hauler; ugly and vociferous at first only to end sweetly in Michael’s arms as all transgressions were forgiven. For the time being and once again, the deep bond between the two persevered over the pressures of the sport.
Michael stirred, turned over and stretched luxuriously like a big cat; his legs so long that his big feet stuck comically over the edge. He looked so relaxed, genuinely happy. Pale moonlight filtered in through the blinds; casting an ethereal glow in the room. Dale reached over and turned on the radio to a softly playing classic rock station. Sighing contentedly and taking another long pull from his beer, Dale noticed his sketchbook tucked underneath the latest copy of the Nascar Scene. Rooting around in the night stand for a charcoal pencil, he sat back and began making a rough sketch. As stressful as his existence was, drawing was one of those quiet activities he enjoyed. And Michael was always one of his favorite subjects. Dale’s eyes caressed Michael’s sleeping form, shaking his head, “awww man, yer just too damned pretty for your own good…” Indeed, at 42 when younger drivers vied for Dale’s attention, Michael could still take his breath away. He focused on Michael’s full, soft lips as he started to fill in the outlines of his sketch. How could he focus, when the vivid memory of those lips on his body still burned in his mind? Or the way those big hands felt against his own skin? His gaze drifted from Michael’s broad chest to his groin and those mile-long legs. Now aroused at the thought of those legs wrapping around him, Dale closed his eyes and his own hand drifted to the band of his boxers.
“Need some help with that, bro?” Dale’s eyes snapped open as he felt Michael’s hot breath on his ear; his voice a husky whisper full of lust and want. The close proximity of Michael’s stark naked body straddling him sent Dale’s senses to overload. Still, he grinned that Cheshire smile and gazed up at his lover.
“Asshole….I thought you were asleep!” he smirked, poking Michael in the ribs.
Michael grinned devilishly and cocked his head at Dale’s drawing. “Whatcha doin’?” Brows furrowed as he analyzed the drawing, “That supposed to be me??”
Blushing furiously, Dale grinned, “Yeah…you looked so …I dunno…just wanted to capture the moment, I guess…”
Flattered to say the least, Michael couldn’t resist a little gentle ribbing, “Ya coulda made my dick a little bigger….it looks like a shriveled up little snausage…”
“Well…you WERE asleep! That thing wasn’t exactly standing at attention…”
Impulsively, Michael grabbed the sketchbook and pencil and made a few adjustments, “Now..there…that’s more like it!”
Dale looked at the adjustments and hooted, “Shithead! If this was drawn to scale, you just made your dick about three feet long!” Michael’s doodling more or less resembled a SKUD missile.
“You know I’m a cocky bastard…” Dale’s hands drifted up Michael’s sides, slowly pausing just below his armpits. He felt a convulsive twitch as Michael shuddered slightly.
“Dale…c’mon..you know I’m ticklish there….” Michael warned. Dale’s smirk grew broader as he launched an assault on those furry pits causing Michael to wheel backwards with a strangled squeak. “Gaaaaahhhh! Stop that!” His legs hit the edge of the bed abruptly and Dale took this opportunity to pounce as Michael flopped backward on the bed.
“Hah! Gotcha!” Dale gleefully grabbed an even more ticklish location-the tender flesh just behind Michael’s knees. This elicited a startlingly loud screech as Michael’s voice raised about three octaves. “AAAHHH!! You little SHIT!!” Michael found himself flat on his back panting as Dale straddled his torso. “Get off me, buttmunch!”
“Give?” Dale inquired slyly, still smirking; his fingers lightly tickling Michael’s ribs. Still breathless, Michael nodded. As Dale eased off him, falsely secure in the knowledge that he had won this battle, Michael suddenly sprung, knocking him backward on the bed; a tall, gangly Tigger pouncing on a slender, red-headed Pooh.
“Now you’re gonna git it…” Michael growled playfully in his ear. His hands went to work tugging at Dale’s boxers. “Ya got too damn many clothes on, boy…” All this tickling had aroused him to a fever pitch as he devoured Dale’s bare skin.
“Oooohh shit..hell YEAH!” Dale’s eyes rolled back in his head as Michael licked, sucked and nibbled his way down his belly to his groin; finally enveloping Dale’s hard dick in his warm, wet mouth. One large hand gently kneaded his balls as he felt himself slide further down Michael’s throat. As his hips bucked upward, Dale felt himself loosing control; Michael went on relentlessly. He suddenly stopped and withdrew Dale from his mouth.
“Uh..whatsamatter….?” Dale sat up, puzzled. His balls were aching now as he watched Michael looking out the window. Damn! He had been so close ! “Awww..c’mon bro…” he pleaded, trying to pull Michael back down.
Michael turned and grinned devilishly. “C’mon…I gotta an idea…” He grabbed a blanket off the bed and headed for the door.
O shit, I don’t like where this is going, Dale thought as he followed Michael. Michael and his ideas were usually a bad combination. Dale found himself amused for some reason as he watched Michael’s startlingly white, bare ass waddle down the hall; contrasting sharply with the rest of his deeply tanned body. “Hey dammit, wait up!”
There was a grassy spot behind the coach, which was parked on a slight rise. There was nothing behind them but open desert and the moon rose high and bright in the sky. Michael spread the blanket on the ground and pulled Dale down beside him. Dale quickly forgot about the cold night air as Michael’s hot, sweaty body folded around him, pushing him back on the blanket. Their hard, lean bodies writhed together underneath the stars; the only sounds being the distant highway and their impassioned moans. Making love in the wide open was an exhilarating sensation. Michael paused for a moment to open a small tube of lube.
“Here…gimme that….” Dale murmured as he squirted a sizeable amount in his hand and began massaging Michael’s throbbing cock. Michael uttered a loud, low moan as Dale’s hands caressed him. Beside them, in Rusty Wallace’s coach, a light went on and a disheveled head poked out the window.
“SSssshhh….Mike….keep it down, man.” Dale smothered Michael’s lips with his own. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, Dale thought knowing how loud Michael could be. He continued to stroke Michael’s length, “C’mon an’ fuck me…” he growled softly. The big man wasted no time in pinning him to the ground; gently sliding his fingers deep into Dale.
“O shit…dayum you’re good…” Dale groaned, giving Michael’s shoulder a wicked bite as Michael’s fingers brushed over his prostate. Michael withdrew his fingers and quickly replaced them with the head of his cock. Dale gasped and gritted his teeth as Michael slowly slid into him.
Michael paused, allowing Dale to adjust and relax for a moment. “You ok?” he asked, gently brushing his lips across Dale’s . The ground was hard and unforgiving but in Michael’s arms, it felt like a suite at the Waldorf-Astoria to Dale.
“mmmm-hmm..” Dale murmured, wrapping his legs around Michael’s back. Long, steady thrusts slowly built in intensity as the two once gain became one. Michael grasped Dale’s cock and began stroking him in time with his own thrusting. Ragged, heavy breathing became loud moaning and then even louder caterwauling. The fever-pitch passion coupled with the almost spiritual experience of their primal setting against the mountains and desert took them both higher than any Victory Lane celebration. Across the Painted Desert, dawn was just breaking in a scarlet line against a sky of indigo and turquoise. Michael shuddered violently as the first wave of his orgasm hit. He felt Dale’s warm seed spill against his chest and he filled Dale with his own. Falling heavily against Dale, both exchanged a few exhausted kisses, bathed in sweat.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Inside Rusty’s coach, the old veteran awoke with a start. The unearthly, wavering howl echoed outside once again.
“What the happy horsefuck was that!?” He sat bolt upright in bed, about to charge to the window again.
“It was just a couple of coyotes…go back to bed, Russell!” His wife muttered, turning over.
“Awright…awright…but do they have to be screwin’ right under my window??”
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Some time later, back in the coach, both Dale and Michael were lounging about on the bed, watching a re-run of “Grumpy Old Men”.
“That’s gonna be us when we’re about 60…” Dale snuggled against Michael’s chest.
“Grumpy old men? I think we’re about half-way there now…at least as far as the grumpy part goes…” Michael smiled, nuzzling the top of Dale’s wiry red hair. “I’m already old an’ grumpy..”
Dale rolled his eyes, “Here we go again….will you stop this shit about getting’ old?” He rolled over on top of Michael, pressing his forehead against Michael’s.
“Listen bro, I love you and you’re stuck with me. We’re gonna be together just like those old farts in the movie. When we get too old and ugly to fuck, we’ll sit around, drink beer, fish and bitch about the world.”
“Promise?”
Dale smiled and looked deeply into Michael’s blue eyes. In them, he saw the wild spirit of passion in the desert still reflected. Past, present and future. No matter how many lovers would drift in and out of their lives, they always found their way back to each other.
“Forever an’ ever…till the France family goes broke and they don’t get drunk an’ nekkid in the Talladega infield.”
“That’s cool…we got that to look forward to!” Michael smiled that loopy, lopsided grin. He pulled Dale into his arms and cocooned himself around Dale’s body. Like two old housecats, the two drifted off to a blissful nap. The original odd couple was back in business.