After That Kiss
By Sheryl Nantus
Note: This is a sequel to "That Kiss" but you do not have to have read that one to understand this one. HOWEVER, there is also another EXCELLENT story with the same title, "That Kiss" by Redlion2 which can be found here: /s/4258366/1/ThatKiss - I made the mistake of using the same title AFTER this one was published. Please drop by and take a look!
Rating: M, 2008 Movieverse - PLEASE NOTE THE RATING! DO NOT COMPLAIN THAT YOU WERE NOT WARNED!
Synopsis: Speed and Trixie have a rendezvous after winning the Grand Prix.
Disclaimer: SO not mine!
She steps through the door separating the Racer household from the garage; still slightly deaf from the Grand Prix and the aftereffects. Behind her is the lingering whispering of Spritle as Mom attempts to put him to bed for the fifth time with Pops threatening to not let the youngster take the trophy to school if he doesn't get to bed this minute. Sparky chimes in with a loud nasally snore from his position on the couch where he has finally declared surrender to the many bottles of beer drunk over the past few hours.
Pops' voice calls his wife to their own bedroom with a mixture of weariness and pride; bundling her off even as she begins to discuss the types of pancakes she will make in a few hours to celebrate the victory.
Finally she is alone. Well, except for the battered Mach 6 sitting in the exact same spot the brave fighter had left only a few hours ago. There's something dripping under the chassis and a trail of liquid meandering its way towards the drain.
He had said to meet her here. But maybe he's too tired; maybe the last round of drinks forced at him by Taejo and a hundred other racers has made him forget. Not to mention the women parading in front of him; eager for a wink or a grin to signal his interest. Maybe…
A figure tackles her in the dim light – hands grabbing her around her waist and lifting her in the air; spinning her around to land squarely atop the workbench that had been the home of a dozen peanut butter and jam sandwiches earlier.
"Hey." Speed kisses Trixie with the same intensity he displayed only a few hours ago in front of a million grandstand watchers and billions of television viewers. She laughs, tangling her fingers in his hair.
"I wasn't sure you'd be here." The petite brunette whispers, leaning forward so that their foreheads touch. "Mom said she wasn't sure where you'd disappeared off to and Pops figured you were old enough to know when to come home…" She sucks in her breath through clenched teeth as he nips at her left earlobe; rolling it between his own pearly whites.
"Just had to dodge some photographers." The heated whisper continues as his hands roam up and around and over her body. "They got their front page shot of us on the podium. Didn't want them getting anything else." He pauses, his hands back on her waist. "You didn't think I wasn't going to show up, did you?"
She shrugs, her own hands dropping to trace around his waist; casually brushing along the inside of those white leather pants he works so hard to keep clean. "Well there were all those women." Her lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout. "And you weren't here, so…"
His eyes are deep and sad, wide with worry and she remembers that he is still way, way too vulnerable for a young man his age. "You know there's no one for me but you, Trix."
"Of course I know that." She captures his mouth in a gentle yet aggressive kiss; hands sliding around and settling on the base of his spine, pulling the blue shirt up to allow her access to bare skin. "I'm just nervous. After all, now you're a Grand Prix winner and all."
The sly grin returns, that rakish smile that reminds her that they've been running almost non-stop since the Crucible and that they never did make use of that almost-too large bed in the suite…
…And her world spins again as he pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her and lifts her away from the cool metal shelf. Her legs wrap around him automatically as he stumbles to one side, prompting a panicky gasp and then a giggle as he straightens up and half-walks, half-runs to behind the stairs.
They land awkwardly on the dark grey mats; the ancient padded blankets stained with almost everything possible that could be found in a garage. Speed twists around at the last minute with perfect timing to cushion the fall, letting out a soft laugh as Trixie lands atop his chest with a short huff of breath. His hands haven't left her waist and move up quickly, flicking the almost-hidden zipper free. With practiced ease he drags it down, seeing her eyes widen with each inch of freedom.
"Your parents…" She exhales, her hands moving around to pull his shirt fully free; bunching up in her grasp as she yanks it up towards his head.
"Are just fine. They're asleep. Told them we'd be up for a bit longer." He leans forward and puts his arms up over his head for the second it takes for her to strip the fabric free. "Pops gave me a wink. He's not that old…"
"But Spritle…" Trixie pauses, her hands pressed against his naked chest. "He's curious…"
"He's in bed. And I think they'll make sure he stays there." The young man continues to delicately work on the fancy dress that he knows she bought especially for the Grand Prix and that cost almost as much as a new actuator for her helicopter. "So put that out of your mind."
She rolls to one side, the mischievous smile he knows and loves for as long as he's known her in full force. "Then hurry up and get undressed." One hand tugs at his hip; the other dancing over the zipper. "I can't do everything, you know."
Speed's hands are a blur of movement as he strips down; cherished white leather pants flying accurately to land atop a stool to their left, boots crashing against the concrete to their right. His boxers drift southward to end up in a muddled mess at their feet, tangled up with the dress and the slinky underwear she has so carefully removed; afraid of losing them to his enthusiasm.
She giggles under his touch; his roaming hands everywhere they should be with the ease and skill of an expert driver on a familiar track. "Speed, the socks…" Her bare foot brushes up against the thin fabric. "The scarf?"
"You know I wear those for luck." He grins as he swoops down for a deep kiss, letting the dangling tails of the red scarf run over their bare skin. "And you tied that knot too well. I'm not going to waste time undoing that when there's much better things to be doing with my fingers."
In her mind she comes up with a rebuttal but loses it in the increasing waves of pleasure swamping her senses. The brunette instead focuses on catching up with her own assault on the naked young man; her hands reaching around and over and under to evoke short, strangled gasps in return.
She notices a difference in his actions; not as playful and childish as before. The events of the past few weeks have aged him and not necessarily for the better. But then he smiles at her and she remembers the little boy making car noises in the back of her class and knows he is going to be fine.
He drops his lips again to her ear, whispering words that she has heard a thousand times before over the years that they've been together; reaffirmations of the unique relationship that has held together through losing Rex and winning races.
Suddenly he pulls his scarf up, biting down hard on the knot as they settle into a wonderfully familiar rhythm; his hands running down under her to settle at the small of her back, pulling her up even as he thrusts down. Through the thick knot he moans louder than she has ever heard him before, increasing her excitement. The heat is building around her and inside her and this is no regular stolen moment away from the parents and the racing circuit; this is something different. More mature, more frantic, more real. In a world where things have changed so much for them in the past few weeks this is the one stable thing in their lives. And it has saved them both more than once.
One edge of the scarf tickles her nose as it moves back and forth, prompting her to grab it between her teeth and pull it into her mouth as her fingers get tangled up in his hair. His eyes open, wide and deep and filled with so many emotions that she is momentarily still, falling into the darkness. Then he grins and moves again and she bites down on the scarf with him; burying her head in his shoulder as all coherent thoughts flash away and he roars like a lion, matching her own.
The brunette is the first to wake up, suddenly aware at the long sunbeam threatening to encroach on their hiding space. Under her Speed lets out a long lazy yawn and tugs on one of the blankets covering the pair, shifting his legs back and forth. She taps his chest once, twice with a finger.
"Hmm?" He doesn't open his eyes more than half-way, a sanguine smile on his face.
She points at a scrap of paper lying not too far from where they are laying. "We have mail."
Stretching out his hand he manages to snag one end, pulling it back to where they haven't moved. He holds it up to read it in the growing daylight.
"Speed. Took family out for breakfast. Be back by noon." A sheepish look comes over the young driver's face. "It's from Pops."
Trixie lets out a sigh, dropping her head down onto his chest again. "And I thought Spritle in the trunk was embarrassing enough."
He studies the sunbeam moving across the concrete floor towards them. "Still have a few hours." His legs shift back and forth under the blankets; a mischievous grin on his face. "And we do need to get cleaned up. Maybe take a shower?" His voice rises with the last sentence as if he's trying to steal a handful of cookies out of the jar before dinner.
She lets out a laugh, reaching around to tickle his too-sensitive ribs. "And then what?"
He glances over to the Mach 6, a silent observer for the past few hours. "We have breakfast and then get to work." His eyes sparkle. "Maybe sneak in a fast run at Thunderhead in the Mach 5 before dinner?"
She laughs, knowing that while some things may change some remain a constant in the Racer household. And this is one of them. "Only if I get to drive at least one lap."
A look comes over his face; the boyish grin mixed with a mature man's leer. "Oh, I'll let you drive…"