Waiting in the Pouring Rain



August 2005


Brian cut the ignition and frowned at the rain sheeting down the Mustangís front windshield. It was Saturday, and come rain or shine, pain or nausea, Brian OíConner would be standing in line at Chinoís front gate to visit inmate #20743, one hard-ass, smart-mouthed, Dominic Toretto.

Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Brian let go of a grin that gave lie to the constant ache plaguing his left, upper back. His current thoughts werenít focused on the injuries his body had sustained at the hands of Tran, Senior and that still had his doc cautioning him against traveling long distances. No, his thoughts were one hundred percent focused on the hard-ass he had yet to taste and the smart mouth he had tasted but had yet to fuck.

Brian looked through nearly fogged-over windows at the dark skies above and cursed the weather that was preventing him from exiting his vehicle. "Fucking rain."

He could, of course, make a dash for it, but the last thing he wanted to do was invite pneumonia into his world. Life was complicated enough, what with his job in jeopardy, and his heart in even worse peril. No use adding chaos to the confusion, Ďcause knowing his luck, heíd not only come down with pneumonia, but also get his ass thrown back in the hospital. Brian sure as hell didnít want to welcome Dom home wearing a gown the color of puke and feeling as frisky as a snail on his last slither.

"Donít worry, Brian. This rainís gonna let up in just a little bit, and then you and Dom can make lovey-dovey eyes at each other all you want."

Jesse materialized in the seat next to Brian and watched Brian wipe unsuccessfully at the condensation obliterating his view of the prison. "Did you know your Mustangís got a major clutch problem? You might want to get that looked at."

Brian released his seatbelt and settled down to wait. He drummed his fingers against his denim-covered thigh for a few minutes, wondering if Dom was as frustrated with the weather as he was. Hell, come to think of it, frustration was his constant companion 24/7 or maybe that should be 24/5. On Saturday and Sunday all frustrations melted away the instant Domís dark gaze hit his face. Nothing like a Toretto smile to set his world straight.

Finding the silence somewhat oppressive, Brian decided music would go a long way to help lighten his shitty mood. He dug out his keys and slipped them back in the ignition.

Reception wasnít the greatest, especially considering that he was missing the top half of his antenna, broken off, no doubt, by some street punk while he was undercover investigating the hijackings. It took a few minutes before Brian finally opted for a Mexican station that was playing music guaranteed to stir the blood of both the living *and* the dead.

"You keep listening to that shit and youíll soon need a shot of tequila and a cigarette." Jesse glanced sideways and grinned with glee when he saw the way Brian was dancing his fingers up and down the zipper of his jeans. "Hate to tell you, Beautiful, but sitting in front of a prison isnít exactly the best place to jack oneís self off. You might want to reconsider that particular thought."

Brian caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and hurriedly jerked his hand away from his crotch when the flash of color speeding by his car solidified into the form of a prison guard dashing for the gate. "Get a grip on yourself, OíConner. Youíre no longer some horny, pimple-faced teenager with the hots for Mr. Most Likely to Fuck the Entire School, Chad Johnson, quarterback extraordinaire."

Brian chuckled. The word extraordinaire had nothing to do with Chadís talent for throwing the pigskin and everything to do with his expertise at throwing his dick into every waiting hole, both male and female.

Heat flared in his cheeks when he remembered the pathetic love poem he had written when he was 15 and in the throes of his first desperate infatuation with Bad Boy Chad.

"Now thereís an idea." Jesse perked up and stared hard at Brian. He then snuck a quick look at the prison, and his thoughtful grin grew into one of major mischief.

Waving his hand at the radio, the ghost suggested, "First off, we need some new tunes. Change the channel, Brian."

Brian rubbed both hands over his face and down his throat, releasing an awkward sigh into the silence. Wonder if . . . .

Blond strands scattered wildly when Brian shook his head in bewilderment. That thought had come from way out in left field, proving that his gray matter was definitely still on the blink if it would even consider such an outrageous idea. Maybe different music would help chill the fire simmering in his groin.

He flipped through the channels and stopped when the raspy sound of Bonnie Raittís gritty voice came over the speakers.

"Sittiní in front of your house, like rain in early dawn. Working on a love letter. Got the radio on."

"Youíve got to be ki---"


Jesse slapped at Brianís hand, an eyebrow lifting in disbelief when the guyís fingers immediately slid away from the radio. The two of them sat listening to the song, both their heads bobbing in sync to the rhythm of Ms. Raittís guitar.

After several seconds Jesse checked on his companion and found Brian was staring off into space with a somewhat goofy, possibly lovesick smile residing on his lips. "The boy has obviously got it bad." Jesse snapped his fingers in front of Brian. "Timeís a wasting, dude. Pen and paper. Find some pen and paper."

The unrelenting rain continued to beat down, and Brian actually started to wonder if it was ever going to slack off long enough for him to get inside the prison. "You know there used to be one those disposable ponchos in the---" He popped open the glove compartment and swore in surprise when a pen and a dirt-smudged envelope fell to the floorboard below.

"What the fuck?"

". . . writing you a love letter, with the radio on . . ."

"You might as well give in and write the damn thing."

Brian abandoned his search for the rain gear and reached instead for the pen and envelope. Chuckling, he pried open the envelope and discovered three sheets of blank paper inside. "Why do I have the feeling somebody up there wants me to write a letter?"

"Not up there, bro. Try right beside you." Jesse scooted closer to his friend, completely ignoring the stickshift that rose like an eager erection from his crotch. "I hope youíre not gonna get mushy," he muttered. "Dom is so not a mushy sort of guy. Write like you talk to him. Thatíll be cool."

Using his thigh as a makeshift desk, Brian spread out the stationary. He took note of the Holiday Day Inn logo and whistled sharply when the memory of that one night stand slapped him in the face. He and a fellow officer, whose taste were the same in regards to pillow partners, had gotten together and done the deed. The sex had been less than spectacular, and both had mutually agreed that it wasnít worth the risk to hook up again.

Brian tapped the green-colored pen against his pearly whites. That clandestine tango with the one-eyed monster had occurred quite a few months before Tanner had picked him to work undercover, and since then Brian had had no desire to offer his ass to anyone else.

Of course, that was until he met Dom.

Dom had it all. Brawn, brains and a bald head to boot. Throw in a bad-ass attitude, and Brian was more than willing to go belly down. Unfortunately the deal with the hijackings had put a leash on his lust for the Italian. Now that Dom was in the clear, however, Brian was once again checking out the lube and condom section at the local drugstore.

Clearing the lust from his throat with a self-conscious cough, Brian shifted restlessly in his seat when he thought of the three bottles of lube and two Ď25% moreí boxes of ĎHot Rodí condoms hiding out in the top drawer of his nightstand. He sure as hell hoped Dom was ready to deliver the goods on his first day home from the prison. His ass was getting damn impatient. So much so that he had actually considered knocking on his back door with the quintet that had been visiting his dick on almost a nightly basis since Dom had kissed the bottom out of his world.

Just last night he had gone as far as attempting the tricky maneuver of finger-fucking himself, but certain healing muscles had protested the pulling and stretching required, and Brian had quickly abandoned the idea. Besides, it would feel so much more fan-fucking-tastic if he came to Dom with an ass that was virgin tight, so to speak.

"Youíre not writing," Jesse admonished. He tried to nudge Brian in the side, but his elbow kept disappearing into the blondís chest, and that sight didnít sit quite so well with the slightly squeamish ghost. "You start writing, and Iíll go see about Dom. He was in the showers last time I checked, and looking a little twitchy if you get my drift." With a lewd wink, Jesse vanished.

Bonnie Raittís voice had been replaced by some cat-wallering hillbilly so Brian clicked off the radio. It was time to get serious if he was going to write Dom a letter.

The more that he brooded about it, the more it made sense, the letter-writing thing. There was stuff he needed to tell Dom, but saying that stuff face to face wasnít nearly as easy nor as safe as it sounded. Some thoughts, especially those that would more than likely make a certain Italian hot under the collar or jeans, were so not worth getting his ass kicked into the stratosphere for.

Although . . . Brian rubbed his chin while glancing at the prison walls before him. Dom *was* in a controlled environment with plenty of burly, gun-toting guards strategically placed throughout the area. Maybe now was the perfect time to clear the air.

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Brian considered the idea for all of one second and then shut it down cold. If Dom wanted to whip his ass, whipped his ass would be. Of that Brian had no doubt.

"Whatever you do, donít mention Mia," Jesse cautioned when he popped back into view. "Domís having a really hard time wrapping his brain around the thought of him fucking the man who fucked his sister but really wanted to fuck the brother. You might want to put the brakes on that subject permanently."

The newest member of the Casper family of ghosts wriggled around and checked out the clutter littering the backseat of Brianís Mustang. "Got Dom some magazines, huh? Good idea. Heíll like that. In fact . . . ." Jesse blinked out and then blinked back in. Once he was seated beside Brian again, he leaned to the side and shoved his face inside Brianís skull. After a few seconds, he pulled out wearing the naughtiest grin on record. "Yeah, put that one on top and slip your love letter inside. Dom will definitely get the hint."

Jesse looked over his shoulder at the stack of magazines sitting in a box on the backseat. "I take it you were not trying for subtlety when you chose that one?" The ghost sobered somewhat. "Thatís okay. Dom likes those who are direct and to the point. No beating around the bush for him. You tell him straight out what you feel, and itíll be okay between the two of you."

Restlessly tapping his fingers against the dash, Jesse noted the rain was starting to slack off. "Hurry up, Brian. This rain is almost done for."

Brian chewed on the penís cap and considered how damn glorious life would be once him and Dom hooked up for good. The sex, no doubt, would be mind-blowing, but that wasnít what had his heart hammering in his chest. No, it was the inconsequential things -- of seeing Dom waking up beside him every morning, watching him shave his face and scalp or brush his teeth, of him and Dom making dinner every night, washing dishes and getting into a soap suds war over who gets the last piece of dessert. Most importantly of all, it was the promise of a future, one that had him hanging with Dom and Mia, of being part of a family again -- thatís what had Brian writing a damn love letter in the pouring rain while sitting parked outside a prison.

"Mercy, mercy but love is strange," he hummed and signed his name with a flourish.

"You got that right."

Jesse peered over Brianís shoulder and checked out what had been written. "Nice job, OíConner. Not mushy at all." Once the letter was stuffed inside its envelope, Jesse watched Brian follow his suggestion and dig through the stack of magazines. The designated magazine was found, placed on top of the rest and between its pages was slipped the envelope containing Domís letter.

"Domís gonna like that. In fact, Iím betting heíll hang onto it from now until never. Heís got it just as bad for you as youíve got it for him. How do I know this? Letís just say our mutual friend has willingly allowed himself to be instructed on the doís and donítís of getting it on with a guy. Ya think heíd be wasting his time listening to me if he wasnít sweet on you? No way, Mr. Arizona. No way in hell." The sudden lack of noise alerted Jesse to the change in weather. "Time to get your ass inside. Domís waiting."

Brian smiled brightly when a glance out the window showed him the rain had finally stopped. "Letís get this show on the rode." Whistling, he collected his gift to Dom and joined the throng of people heading toward the prison.

"Ninety-two, Dom. Ninety-two more days."

Brian was counting the days until Dom walked free. In fact, Mia had given him a calendar, along with a lot of other shit for his place, and the calendar was numbered with exactly how many days before Dom was up for parole. Every night Brian went through a ritual in which he crossed out the day that had just passed and touched his fingers to the calendar. He then touched his hand to his chest and kissed his knuckles while staring at a picture of Dom he had lifted from the manís police file.

Prayer, blessing and promise.

Brian stopped just short of entering the prisonís main entrance gate.

"Ten seconds or forever, Dom. Either way, it *will* be glorious."



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