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The green glow of the digital clock mocked Driver as he sped down the freeway, the short city skyline ahead of him. His leather gloves creaked nervously against the steering wheel as his eyes darted to the clock one more time. He knew what it would say, but it didn’t hurt to check again.
Yep.
He was late.
Sweat pricked at the back of his freshly shaved neck, a few stray strands of short hairs itched as he attempted to swipe them away. He darted past slower cars, hardly noticing the honking in his wake. He changed gears, gliding into an empty parking spot downtown before putting it in Park and nearly jumping out of the moving vehicle. He buttoned his suit jacket as he skipped up onto the curb. Neon city lights illuminated the wet sidewalk up to the bar. A cacophony of voices flooded his head the second his grip broke the seal of the door, swinging it open. It was busier than usual.
A Friday night.
Driver took a deep breath, eyes adjusting to the crowd. He scanned the room, nerves rebounding off of every random shoulder he checked on his way to the bartender.
What if he left already?
He ran a worried hand through his newly cut hair, cursing internally at himself when the realization that he likely just messed up some very expensive styling hit him.
“Hey, hotshot,” the bartender nodded at him to get his attention.
He squinted in response, unsure if he was referring to himself.
“Yeah, you, what can I get ya?” his left arm was in a short, white cast. There was blue marker drawn on the side of it. Was that a—
“Yo,” the bartender snapped his fingers, irritated, “there’s a line, pal.”
“Your cast has a mermaid drawn on it,” Driver spit out, accidentally out loud, his eyebrows still knit.
The man’s eyes went wide in pretend shock, “Really? Shit, I had no idea. Any other revelations you’d like to bestow on me, genius? Or are you gonna order a drink?”
“Sorry, double whiskey.”
“House fine?”
Driver nodded.
He put his back to the bar, giving the room another scan.
His chest relaxed, breathing out a sigh of relief as he spotted a familiar man in a cream knit sweater over a black button up shirt sitting on a bar stool across the room.
Holy shit.
He wasn’t just in a cream sweater. He was wearing a thick leather jacket over his layers. It was real leather. The bottom was slightly faded, worn, old. But the piece was excellent quality. Driver knew his leather. Where’d he get it? Did Lars own it? Driver swallowed, sucking on his bottom lip as he began to stare at his partner from across the room. His leather jacket looked heavy, and he wanted it on top of him real bad. He reached into his pocket slowly, fingers fumbling for the few sticks of wood they knew were stashed away there. He pulled a tooth pick out of his pocket without looking, placing it between his teeth and letting his lips fold against it.
“Hey, mermaid!”
Driver turned back towards the bar, eyebrow raised.
“Your drink.”
Driver exchanged it for a ten and a few bills, muttering for him to keep the change, eyes now fixed on the finest man in the city. He took a step forward before he stopped in his tracks. A tall man in a white button-up shirt, pressed pants, and shined shoes had cozied up to Lars’s side, pulling up a bar stool next to him on the back wall of the bar. Driver’s throat went dry as he gripped his newly acquired, thick crystal glass a little too hard. He pulled it up to his lips, taking a large swig. He found an empty spot by the central fireplace, leaning nonchalantly against the stone so he could watch the two of them as every nerve in his body started to tingle.
He bore holes into the unaware stranger. The man was now smiling at something Lars was telling him. Lars’s eyes shined up at the man as if he had hung the stars in the sky.
What was so special about this guy? I mean sure, he was tall, but he wasn’t anything to write home about…
The man leaned forward, whispering something at Lars. Lars listened intently before laughing out loud, its sound barely audible in the strength of the crowd, but Driver knew what it sounded like. The eye-scrunch, barred-teeth, open-mouthed laugh of his. It was usually followed by a– ah, there it was; Lars hit the bar table twice with a fist, his laugh dying down. He now rested his head against his fist, still staring intently at the middle-aged man as they continued their conversation.
Driver took another swig of his drink, nearly finishing it, before deciding he had had enough. He made his way over to the two of them, stomach full of gasoline and eyes lit with jealousy.
He cleared his throat when the two didn’t acknowledge his presence, now dangerously within arms reach.
“Yes?” the man asked.
Driver nearly sneered, lip twitching. The man had one of those accents that only an east coast banker who grew up with a trust fund and divorced parents could have.
Driver ignored him, “Is this man bothering you?” he turned to Lars.
Lars’s expression remained neutral.
The man scoffed, answering first, “Excuse me? We’re enjoying each other’s company, thank you very much. And who are you, may I ask?”
“His boyfriend,” he surprised himself with the speed of his answer, nearly cutting off the man’s question.
The man’s eyebrow raised as he chuckled, turning towards Lars, “Is this fellow yours?”
Lars looked Driver up and down, considering him, before compressing his lips and shaking his head, going for a sip of his beer bottle.
A spark of betrayal flooded Driver’s system. He clenched his fists as he directed his anger towards the stranger, realizing that he was still wearing his driving gloves.
“Nice try, buddy, but I think it’s time for you to leave,” the man jeered.
Driver nearly smiled, debating all the ways he could take care of this guy for good when the man turned towards Lars again.
“Some people have no manners.”
“Oh,” Lars scoffed with a smile, “I’m sure he didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The man laughed and Driver’s blood boiled, “Well, I’m sure he did…” he let his voice trail off in judgement, “...Anyways, where were we?” the man smiled, a glint in his eye that made Driver feel sick.
He reached a hand forwards, grabbing Lars’s thigh. He squeezed it.
Lars recoiled hard at the unwanted touch, surprise and pain evident on his face.
The cacophony of sound suddenly fell silent as the sharp crash of glass against the man’s skull reverberated around the bar.
Before the man could get his bearings, two leather-bound hands firmly gripped him on the lapels of his shirt and spun him out of the barstool and onto the glass coffee table a few feet in front of him. Another smash of glass filled the silent room as the man went through the table, dazed but conscious, prompting a few frightened screams as people realized what had happened. Blood just started to trickle off of his temple as he groaned, attempting to sit up. Driver was on him immediately, not giving him any time to recover. He landed his first punch on the man’s nose, breaking it cleanly with another resolute crack. He was sure he could afford the plastic surgery needed to fix it, so he didn’t feel too bad about continuing.
More screams echoed around the room as Driver punched him a second and third time, blood now splattered across the man’s face, the surrounding glass, and the floor. His body was shaking in anger, his ears deaf to the screams around him. All he wanted was to wail into this motherfucker until his lights went out and he ceased being a problem.
Before he knew it, there were four hands pulling him back. He whipped around to shove them away, but stilled when he realized two of them belonged to Lars. He snapped out of it, breathing hard. He wiped the loose pieces of broken glass off of his clothes as if it would rid him of his sins.
“Jesus!” the bartender screamed, his voice shrill. His hands had been the other two to pull him off the man.
Driver pushed the bartender's hands off of him. The man recoiled his hands away quickly, clearly still favoring his previous injury.
“What in the fresh hell is your problem?! Get the fuck out!”
This was a fair enough request. Driver nodded, grabbing Lars’s hand and pulling him out of the establishment.
He heard Lars mumble a sheepish, “Sorry, March,” as he was pulled past the bartender and out the door.
Lars went to unlock his rusted Toyota when Driver snatched the keys out of his hands and placed them in his back pocket, taking Lars by the shoulder and steering him towards his 1973 Chevrolet Monte Carlo instead. He opened the passenger’s side door for him, waited for him to be safely seated, and then closed the door before walking around the front of the car and getting in the driver’s seat. He started the car and peeled out of the parking lot in record time, expertly making his way out of town and back on the freeway.
They drove for twenty minutes in silence until they were so far out of town that they were the only ones left on the road north.
“Pull over,” Lars stated.
Driver obeyed, finding the nearest safe shoulder and parking the car. The sound of crickets and frogs rang out cheerfully in the heavy silence as the engine turned off.
Lars pulled him in by the jacket and thigh. Driver understood what he needed immediately and maneuvered his body until he was in the middle of the front row of leather seats, allowing Lars to sit in his lap. He helped Lars get into position before they reached for each other hungrily, mouths nearly clashing into each other as their hands grasped for whatever they could grab onto. Driver was close enough to smell Lars’s leather jacket now, grabbing him by either side of the open zipper and pulling him even closer. Lars pushed his weight forwards, pinning Driver against the back of the seat. He went to grab him by the scruff of the neck but struggled to make purchase with enough soft hair to get a good grip.
“You got a haircut.”
“I wanted to look nice.”
“You look very nice.”
“So do you.”
Lars compromised by sliding his hand farther up the back of Driver’s scalp until his hair was long enough to grab, pulling his head back so he could angle his mouth down into him. They kissed sloppily until Driver felt dizzy. He grabbed Lars’s leather jacket and began pushing it off his shoulders until the weight was off of him. It fell with a thump to the floor by their feet. Lars was still in control, pulling Driver’s head back now harder until he couldn’t resist it, submitting to him as his head fell backwards into the empty space between the front and second row of seats with a loud groan. Lars kept him here, now sucking and biting down his neck until Driver was a panting mess. He started bucking up into Lars helplessly, mewling and whining until Lars released the back of his head, letting him look into his eyes again.
They panted into each other, catching their breath, until Driver spoke up first.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Lars responded, unbothered.
“I was late. And I was worried that you were mad at me. It…I was mad at myself. On edge.”
Lars seemed shocked by this, but the corner of his lip lifted in an amused grin.
“Sweetheart, you were only late by five minutes.”
“Six minutes,” Lars looked at him, unimpressed by his exactness.
Driver continued earnestly, “What? A lot can happen in six minutes...”
“Well, for the sake of stranger’s faces and your knuckles, I think we should give the whole ‘pretend we don’t know each other in a bar’ roleplay a rest for a bit.”
Driver looked like he had punched him in the gut, “No, come on,” he pleaded, Lars attempted to look unamused, “My knuckles are fine, look.”
Lars looked down at Driver’s gloved hands.
“Mhm, we’ll see about that when I take those off at home. Ten bucks I hand you a bag of ice to stop the swelling right after.”
Driver went to protest again, but could already feel the swelling pushing against the leather edges of his gloves, so he bit his tongue.
“Please, baby,” he begged, “I love our date nights.”
Lars sighed, “I’m not saying no more date nights, I’m saying no more role–”
“I’ll behave myself.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Because you nearly killed that man tonight.”
“That was entirely different.”
“How?”
“He touched you.”
The car fell silent.
“He…he grabbed you.”
The memory of the man’s hand on Lars thigh, of Lars flinching away, nearly set Driver off again. Heat filled his face, his chest on fire. His leg began to bounce restlessly, the sole of his shoes tapping the floor of the car again and again.
“Actually,” he looked at his watch, only half-kidding, “if I turn around now we can make it back there in time for me to land a few more blows in case he–”
“Would you– enough!” Lars scoffed, pushing Driver’s hand off of the stick shift.
“Let’s just go home.”
Driver grinned up at him.
“What? What is so amusing right now?”
“You’re still in my lap.”
Lars went to move but Driver grabbed his hips, keeping him in place.
“That was not a complaint. Stay. Please.”
They remained in that position for a few more minutes, Driver now rubbing circles in Lars’s side to sooth him.
“We should go home,” Lars whispered.
“It’s still early out.”
Lars raised an incredulous brow at him.
“We could go to another bar,” Driver suggested, leaning in to kiss him again.
Lars shook his head, “I think I’ve had enough fun for tonight.”
Driver deflated, but it only lasted a few moments before Lars continued with, “But we can do it again next week as usual,” he avoided eye contact as he tried to hide a sly smile.
Driver kissed him on the cheek, helping him readjust back into his proper seat. He slid back into the driver’s seat, restarting the car.
They still had about a half an hour drive until they were back in their small town.
Until they were back home.
Driver looked over at Lars as they drove under the bright stars lighting the way.
“Remember the first time we went to a bar like that?”
Driver caught his shy smile in the moonlight when he glanced over into the passenger's seat.
“Of course I do.”
Driver revved the engine absentmindedly before bringing them back to a safer speed. He didn’t want to get home too quickly anyways.
“You came in wearing one of my jean jackets. It had one of those soft, shearling collars for winter. It was just slightly big on you, but your shirt was so tight that the oversized jacket accentuated your waist.”
Fuck, at this rate Driver would have to pull over again.
He bit his lip before fumbling for another toothpick in his pocket. If he wasn’t careful he would run out soon.
“I nearly called the whole thing off, you looked so good. I froze up but you walked right up to me and introduced yourself.”
Driver chuckled, “You asked me ‘what kind of name is Driver?’.”
Lars shook his head with a smile, “I still think we need to give you a real name.”
“Driver is a real name.”
“Anyways,” Lars continued, too tired to argue about this again, “We talked, you flirted–”
“You flirted back.”
“No, I attempted to flirt, and you were sweet enough to me to go along with it.”
Driver looked genuinely offended, his voice no longer playful, “You are so,” he took a moment to collect himself, “incredibly charming, I nearly lost my mind holding myself back from jumping you then and there.”
Lars chuckled, “I was sitting up by the bartender on a stool facing you while you stood over me. You had both your hands on either side of that bar so fast, boxing me in.”
Driver shrugged, “I didn’t want you going anywhere without me.”
“I didn’t want to go anywhere without you.”
“Well, then, I didn’t want anyone else getting the impression otherwise,” Driver revved the engine again, sliding is toothpick now to the other side of his mouth.
“You hovered over me, just inches away, but that…” Lars seemed like he was going to curse before he changed his mind, “...your toothpick was in the way.”
Driver grinned, amused by the irritation in Lars’s voice. He took a hand off the wheel to spin the toothpick that was currently in his mouth.
“So, I had to get rid of it. Eventually, I got sick of it and pulled it right out of your mouth.”
Driver laughed, “I thought you were going to throw it away so I could finally kiss you but you stuck it straight into your mouth instead.”
Lars looked proud of himself as they reminisced.
God, he was perfect.
“You were far less patient than me because–”
“We knew that already–”
“--because it only took a matter of minutes before you were leading me out that door.
Driver shook his head, “You made me wait until we were all the way back home.”
“It was still light out! People talk in this town, and you know I get nervous in public. Besides, it was worth it, don't you think?”
Driver would never doubt that.
He nodded, readjusting his pants that were feeling far too tight all of a sudden.
“You broke my key rack that night. Trying to lift me up against the wall,” Lars muttered.
“You didn’t mind at the time.”
“And my dining room table,” Lars pointed, stern.
“Now, that was already broken. We just…made it worse.”
Lars sighed before taking his hand and intertwining it in Driver’s fingers as he drove one handed for the rest of the trip.
Driver couldn’t help but smile to himself as they flew down the empty freeway. He glanced over at the passenger’s seat again before breaking their comfortable silence.
“Hey, Lars?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Happy anniversary.”