Work Text:
“Nonono- you gotta be fucking kidding me” Tom slammed the steering wheel of his Toyota as it began to putter out. Taking its last breaths, the vehicle wheezed. He pulled over on the long stretch of highway, the coarse dirt on the side of the road crunching as the vehicle slowed to a stop. He knew his car had been running on fumes for some time, he kept telling himself he’d stop at the next gas station, not knowing there was hardly enough fuel in the tank to get him there.
With his head in his hands he sighed. Of course he runs out of gas here.
“Fucking idiot…” he muttered to himself. Reaching for his phone, he punched in, gas station near me, and waited. The app hesitated for a moment before it started processing. One second stretched into two, then five. It just kept loading.
He glanced up at his screen and saw the connection bar nearly empty. Barely a signal. He was deep in the middle of nowhere, and clearly, his provider didn’t prioritize buttfuck nowhere.
In a desperate attempt he turned the key in his car, hoping it would turn over, as if the fumes of the fumes her car were running on could just get him a little further. No such luck graced him. Taking his keys out the ignition, Tom opened the door to his shitty beige sedan and peered over the horizon of the highway. The haze of the sun reflecting off the road hurt his eyes. Squinting, he hoped to see someone, anyone. He could flag them down, maybe hitch a ride to the nearest gas station, call a tow truck, or at least do something other than bake in the summer heat on the interstate.
His eyes went wide, barreling down the freeway was a small red coupe. Who knows when another car would come down this way. He stood up on the side of the road, waving his arms like a mad man.
“HEY!”
He yelled, jumping up and down like it was exercise. The car kept getting closer and closer. Finally, he figured he’d only been out here for what, fifteen, maybe thirty minutes? Still, it felt like hours.
It was maybe a mile away now, less than that, a football field away maybe. Thanks, peewee football, at least marking arbitrary distances is slightly easier, Tom thought to himself.
Still he jumped in the air waving his arms hoping to flag down the rapidly approaching sports car. There’s no way they can’t see him by this point. Gotta be less than fifty yards away now. Thirty. Now Twenty.
Like a jet engine it roared as it blew past him. Nearly knocking him flat on his ass as the car blew dirt and dust all over his clothes.
“Motherfucker-“
He hunched over, rubbing at his eyes to clear the dust, it hurt like hell. Tom had never been pepper sprayed, but this had to be comparable. Through squinted eyes and blurred vision he stumbled back to his car, throwing the door open to grab his water bottle he kept beside him. Quickly the cap flew off and whatever was left he poured all over his face, washing out the dust from his eyes and soaking his clothes. On the upside, it did cool him off quite a bit. He didn’t keep a thermometer in his car or anything like that, but he could definitely fry an egg on his windshield.
After several deep breaths, he sighed, now it was just a waiting game. He stood by the car, watching as his hazards blinked on and off. Looking down at his trashed sneakers he kicked the dust around, drawing stick figures in the dirt. He was halfway through a crude drawing of a stick figure lady particularly gifted in the chest region when he heard a low rumble. Whipping his head in the direction he saw a silhouette in the distance, cruising comfortably in his direction.
Looks like a biker, though, they were too far to identify any further. The sun reflected off their helmet. With the rider’s face obscured and at this distance it was hard to identify them in any meaningful way. Not that it mattered, Tom would take any help he could get.
Second time’s the charm, he mused, jumping to the shoulder of the road to resume his best impression of one of those inflatable characters that sit out of used car lots. Waving arms wildly he yelled out to the quickly approaching bike.
“HEY! HEY!”
He could see the biker’s head shift; they surely had to have noticed him. He noted as he saw their shoulders relax, the bike began to slow down considerably as it approached. With the rider nearing closer, they sat up on the bike, as if to get a better look at the jackass waving his arms on the side of the road. Judging by the shape of the silhouette, he could tell it was a woman on the bike. Beyond that, it was hard to pick out too many other details from that distance. Her helmet looked like it had those cosmetic animal ears built into them. Subtle. Cute even… Though, maybe they were made for real ears to fit into? Could this woman not be human? It was hard to tell from the angle, so he couldn’t be sure. Her body was covered head to toe, some kind of tough leather jacket, jeans, and gloves gripping the handlebars. It wouldn’t be irregular for the area, but, Tom had lived in predominantly human areas, the only person he really knew that wasn’t human was his roommate in college, and this lady didn’t seem to have horns sticking out of her head. That rules out a few possibilities at least.
As she pulled up to the side of the road, Tom made note of her helmet. It obscured her face, covering her whole head. He could see his disheveled self in the reflection of her mirrored visor. Unlike the kind of helmet he would see human motorists wear. It was longer in the front. More than likely to accommodate a longer face, like a muzzle. So he was right. Definitely not a human.
The woman sat up on the bike as it came to a stop in front of him, her jacket was only zipped about three fourths of the way. Tom’s eyes glanced at the negative space, hoping to see a fur color, or pattern he may recognize. He was met with the slightest peek of a lower cut top, cleavage covered with tannish-brown fur. Some kind of feline maybe? Canine?
He didn’t need to wonder long, as she grasped the sides of her helmet pulling it off. Tom was met with the face of a hyena woman. Her black hair was shorter in the front but reached down her neck like a grown-out mullet. It was messy and matted, no doubt from hours of riding with that helmet on. Her ears were decorated with piercings. One ear had several rings hooked around the base, and the other looked like it had a small metal bar running through it.
She looked him up and down with a cocked brow. A small smile creeped up on her face, displaying her sharp pearly whites,
“Y’know, if you had to piss you coulda just done it over there-“ She gestures further off the road to some dried up bushes, “-there’s no need to piss your pants by an open road.”
Tom was confused, cocking his head to the side as if to ask what the hell she was talking about. The hyena woman just pointed just below his eye level. He followed her line of sight, looking down to see the bottom of his shirt, and the crotch area of his pants were still soaked. She started to snicker as he scrambled to give an explanation.
“What? Nono this water, there was another car earlier and it blew past, I had a water and I was just-“
She held up her paw to intervene, “I know I know, relax dude I’m just fucking with you. I can smell the difference.”
Ew.
“You smell a lot of piss, lady?” He jabs. Got to get her back for laughing at him at least a little.
She snorts, not expecting him to return fire. Without a comeback on deck she shrugs, “Could just leave ya here. Who knows when the next person’ll come along to help your sorry ass.”
“Wait no! I didn’t-“ He pauses, watching as she stifles another laugh. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.” She shrugs. Flicking the kickstand on her bike, she sets it down, swinging her leg around to dismount. There was a rhythm to her step as she walks up to Tom, like each footfall of her dusty black boots like a dull kick drum. A woman that moves with her own personal groove. Her height easier to gauge as she now stands right in front of him. They were similar in height, including her ears maybe she had an inch or two on him, but they were relatively eye level with one another.
“So, what’s the damage then?” She interrupted his current train of thought, making him scramble to reply
“Oh- uh, Outta gas,” Tom sighed. “-been running on fumes for the last, like, I don’t know- maybe fifteen miles or so.”
The hyena paused, musing for a moment. “Alright let's go.”
“Huh? Go where?”
“You need gas, yeah? Well let’s go. Hop on. The nearest gas station is twenty minutes or so that way,” She gestured ahead, the direction Tom was originally headed in.
She reached into a storage compartment on the side of her bike, pulling out a spare helmet not unlike hers. “Throw this on, piss boy.” She tosses it at him.
He took the helmet in his hand, catching it just barely, “Piss boy?! Don’t call me that, that’s fucking gross.”
The hyena woman was already back on the bike. She threw her own helmet on, her mirrored visor staring back at Tom as if to tell him to put his on as well.
He does. Struggling for a moment to pull it over his head. This one didn’t have any external ear pockets, but the front was a bit long on him, given his lack of a muzzle like many anthro folks have. He watched as her paw reached to the side of her helmet,
“Then what do I call you?” Her voice fed directly into his ear, slightly cracking as it was fed through an earpiece embedded in the helmet.
“It’s Tom.”
“Okay Tom. Hop on.” She patted behind her on the bike. He couldn’t see her face any more but with the tone of her voice he could swear she was grinning ear to ear. He steps up to the bike, climbing on, albeit somewhat awkwardly. “Hold on tight,” her voice came in again through the helmet’s comms.
“Huh?”
“I said-,” She sat up on the bike briefly, reaching behind her to grab his arms, jerking them forward to her front, and pressing them just under her ribcage, “- hold on tight. No seatbelts on this thing, what kinda knight in shining armor would I be if I let you fly off the back of my horse?”
She lets go of Tom’s hands, and they stay holding onto her. The hyena woman flicks up the kickstand with her boot and revs the bike’s engine before it jerks forward. Quickly barreling down the highway.
The bike gradually found its pace. The engine rumbled below the seat, purring as the hyena girl brought it up to speed. Several moments passed, Tom held on for dear life. He’d never ridden on a motorcycle before. Holding his eyes half closed he found his grip tightening around her leather jacket. With the cool winds whipping by them as the bike cruised comfortably, he noted how warm she felt. He could feel her heartbeat from under her jacket, steady and clear. As he clung to her he was beginning to feel more at ease.
“Joan…”
“Huh?”
He’d spaced out, blinking hard he readjusts his grip around her, paranoid that his hand placement may be higher than he intended.
“Name’s Joan, by the way. Figured you’d ask before putting your hands near my tits but I guess chivalry is dead.” She chuckles to herself, her voice still coming in clearly through Tom’s helmet. Her voice was on the lower side. A bit gravelly, but not grating or hoarse.
“Fancy spare helmet you got,” Tom remarked.
“The comms come in handy, beats screaming over my shoulder against the bike’s engine and the wind.”
“So you give people rides often then? Or only when you have the chance to play white knight?”
He heard her exhale through her nose quickly, it was barely audible over their comms, but he could feel her body vibrate like she was trying to hold in a laugh or a cough. “Yeah. Something like that-“ she pauses. “-So… where were you headed, Tom? Y’know, before running out of gas and pissing yourself.”
“You’re hilarious,” Tom said flatly, rolling his eyes. An effort he knew was wasted but did so out of habit. “Was on my way to a wedding.”
“Not yours I hope?”
“Uh no?”
“Good,” Joan clicks her tongue, which just barely registers on their comms.
Tom’s heart jumps for a moment. Is she flirting? Hard to say. Granted, when a woman’s voice is being fed directly into your ear, most things sound at least a little bit flirty. The next few minutes were quiet. The muffled sound of the wind and the engine of Joan’s motorcycle droned from outside Tom’s helmet.
Joan inhaled sharply, breaking the silence, “You like music, Tom?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Ha! Good answer,” Joan slows down to a cruising speed, her phone was mounted on the center of the bike’s handlebars for easy access. She glanced down briefly, and with just a few taps the sound of a cruising guitar overdrive fills the speakers of the headset in Tom’s helmet. The beginning of Steely Dan’s Reelin’ In The Years.
“Steely Dan? Really” He remarks after listening for several moments.
“Yeah? What’s wrong with that?” Her voice cuts through the song, the track deafens when she speaks, making it easier to hear.
“N-nothing, I just… wasn’t expecting divorced dad rock from the hyena biker chick.”
She snorted, “Oh yeah? And what were you expecting?”
“I dunno. Metallica? Iron Maiden maybe?”
“Eh, they’re okay. I like them in small doses, now shut up, this is the best part.”
Tom huffs, but obliges. As the guitar breaks out into a solo he just listened. He shifted his weight in the seat, and adjusted his grip on Joan’s torso to make sure he was still secure. The hyena smirked underneath her helmet, feeling the human’s hands. There was that secret giggle again...
She hummed along with the song’s melody for a moment longer.
“So Tommy, what do you do for work?”
“I’m a photographer.”
“Ah, a photographer, huh? What kind of photos you take, guy?”
“These days, mostly weddings,”
“Shoulda, guessed- but I wouldn't want to’ve assumed!” She raised a glove off the handlebar to point in the air, emoting while barreling down the road. A gesture that normally would have made Tom feel unsafe. “-and that’s where you were headed I assume?”
“Yeah. It’s not my favorite, but it pays pretty good. The kind of photography I like doesn’t pay the bills usually,”
“That sucks. Then what kind of photo stuff do you like? Artsy type shit?” She teased.
“Haha, yeah. Artsy type shit. I like the real shit y’know. Textures. Like those photos from places real people are at, intricacies of their lives or the time, struggle and joy and conflict, but it’s only a snapshot. I dunno, I’m no Robert Frank or Walker Evans or whatever,”
“Who?”
“Photography guys.”
“Ah.”
Before long, Tom saw the canopy of the gas station on the horizon. They pull in, rolling up to one of the pumps. The two dismounted and removed their helmets. Tom glanced around the gas station; it was mostly empty, save for a car at a pump on the opposite end of the complex. His eyes grew wide.
“No fucking way,” He spoke under his breath.
“What is it?” Joan cocked her head, looking in the same direction. “What? The car? Yea I guess it’s nice. All red and sporty and shit,”
“No, that’s the car that blew past me. Before you stopped. Fucking asshole.”
Joan nodded her head. “Yea, real piece of work. Just forget about it, lets stay on task pissboy. Come on lets get inside, they usually have gas cans you can get inside here,”
Tom grumbled but followed behind her. “I told you to stop calling me that,”
“I will, I will. When it stops being funny.”
The door of the gas station swung open as the two walked in, hitting a small bell above, ringing out inside. A gruff older gentleman sat behind the counter. Snow white beard, beer gut, denim vest, and small rounded glasses, making for what Tom could only think of as some kind of biker Santa Claus.
“Joan! You bringing in strays now?” The man chuckled.
“Something like that,” Joan slapped Tom on the back, “Say, Nick, my new buddy Tom here seems to have ran out of gas about 20 miles back. Care to spare a gas can we can fuel up to run back?”
“Of course, here,” He reaches below the counter, pulling up a three-gallon gas container, setting it on the counter and looking over to Tom, “That gonna be enough, son?”
“Yea, should be enough to get me here, fuel up some more and such.”
“Great!” Joan clasps her paws together, “You go outside and fuel that thing up at the pump, I’m gonna catch up with Nick a minute. Be right out.”
Tom shrugged, taking the container and walking out the door back to Joan’s motorcycle. It didn’t take long to fuel up the container, so Tom took the liberty to fix it to the side of the bike. Thankfully it seemed it was already equipped to have something of that kind of shape secured. He picked up the loaner helmet, fiddling with it while he waited. Curious, Tom stepped out a bit to glance to see if that red car was still outside.
It was, though it looks like the owner had gone inside. His eyes widened as he saw Joan stepping around the car. She reached to her belt, pulling out a pocketknife and flicking it open. Tom watched, frozen with a combination of astonishment and concern as she ran the knife along the side of the car. Digging in one long scratch across the car’s otherwise flawless crimson red paint.
Quickly, as if nothing had happened at all, Joan stowed the knife away, hands in her pockets as she waltzed back towards Tom and her bike.
Tom looked at her, mouthing something along the lines of ‘what the fuck are you doing’, and all the Hyena could do was smirk and shrug. As if it couldn’t be helped.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
The voice from out of view made both Joan and Tom jump. It was shrill and frantic.
“Shit.” The human and hyena said in unison. Transitioning from a brisk walk to a sprint Joan ran back to the bike.
“Gas can set?” She asked as she quickly pulled her helmet on over her head.
“Yeah,”
“Okay, time to go!” Joan hopped on the bike and practically pulled Tom on behind her. The bike roared to life just as a middle-aged man in aviators rounded the corner.
“YOU! HYENA BITCH!”
Joan revved the bike’s engine before peeling out of the gas station. He saw the man run back to his car, as if he were going to chase after them. Tom held on for dear life as the motorcycle fought to throw him off. They were going so fast he couldn’t bear to watch, closing his eyes tightly as he held onto the hyena for dear life.
He didn’t dare speak for several minutes, afraid any commentary would distract him from staying seated on the bike, or distract Joan from her speeding down the road. It wasn’t for a little while longer the bike finally started to slow down to a comfortable cruising speed.
“Okay, I think we’re a safe distance away. That guys not catching up any time soon.” Joan spoke completely out of breath, as if she herself was fueling the bike.
“What the fuck Joan?!” Tom yelled, making the hyena flinch as his voice surely hurt her ears as it came through the headset in her helmet. “What happened to forget about it?!”
“Oh that? I just didn’t want you to do anything. It’s my job as your knight in shining armor to protect your honor,” The hyena’s voice became dramatic, and suddenly British.
“That’s not funny, Joan, you could get in serious trouble. That gas station probably has cameras,”
“Pfft, Nick won’t rat me out. I’ve known him for like ten years.”
“Uhuh…”
“Look trust me, Tom. I’ll be fine. More importantly, you’ll be fine. We’ll get to your car, fuel it up and you can drive back to the gas station with no problem. I’ll head back the opposite way. If that car comes down this way looking for me, he’s not gonna recognize you in the driver seat of your car.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Tom sighed. This isn’t what he had in mind for this leg of his trip. Granted, it ended up a lot more eventful. If his phone were working he would have just sat around waiting for a tow truck, been towed to that gas station while making awkward conversation with the tow tuck driver who, no doubt, would love to share his political opinions with Tom as they drove regardless if he asked or not.
“Thanks.” Tom admitted, holding the hyena a bit tighter, just for a moment, serving as a brief hug.
“You’re welcome,” Joan chirped back.
It wasn’t much longer before they’d returned to Tom’s wonderful shitbox. Right where they left it. The two dismounted. Tom grabbed the gas can from the side of the bike and brought it to the car's side to begin refueling. Soon the can was emptied, and he walked back to Joan’s bike.
“You can hold onto that. Bring it back to Nick and he’ll give you a discount fueling up.”
Tom nodded his head, turning back to throw the empty container in the trunk. He opens the driver side door, climbing inside his vehicle. He rolls down the window as Joan approaches, letting her rest her elbows on the window, peeking her head inside.
“Thank you, Joan. Really. I owe you one,”
“You’re damn right you do,” She smirked, “Say, where was that wedding you needed to get to?”
Tom raised his eyebrows, “Well it’s-“ Joan quickly raised a paw to interrupt him.
“Wait, actually. Give me your hand.” Without much resistance, she grabbed his hand pulling it close to her before pulling a marker out of her jacket.
“This is my phone number. You need a plus one for the wedding, or wanna make a fool of ourselves at the reception, gimme a call,” She made a phone gesture with her paw as she stepped back from the car, mounting her motorcycle and throwing her helmet on in one fluid motion.
“See you around piss boy!” She laughed as the bike roared to life darting off in the opposite direction.
Tom chuckled to himself, turning the key in the ignition. His car grumbled as it awoke from its slumber. He fiddled with his phone on the aux until the opening groove of Do It Again filled his speakers. He looked at his hand at the ten scrawled digits. Before he would forget he added them to his contact list, then, shifted gears, applying pressure to the gas. Rolling back onto the highway, he cruised back on his path.
A satisfied smile quickly creeped up on his face as he saw a bright red sports car hauling ass down the other side of the road.