My Way Or The Highway by violet_eyes [Reviews - 1]

"Under that blue collar there's a big ole long red tail - it hides the truth, but it bleeds thru when a good ole boy goes bad!" Nick grinned as he drummed his hands on the steering wheel and sang along with the radio - something he only ever did when he was alone, because while Greg had learned to tolerate country music he still couldn't bear to hear it sung slightly off-key within the confines of a moving vehicle. And Greg was still at work, pulling a double shift so that the two of them could have the whole of Thanksgiving off - so Nick turned the radio almost all the way up and continued singing, his smile widening as he thought of the upcoming holiday weekend they'd be spending with Greg's parents. Stuffed so full of food they could barely move, the noisy camaraderie of Greg's extended family, the brass railed bed in the guest room...

"The good book goes out the window, when the gloves go to the floor..." and then his voice tailed off as he caught sight of the flashing light in his rear view mirror. C'mon, just drive past, he said inside his head, but his silent prayer was met by a short burst from a siren and a voice distorted by being filtered through a microphone.

"Pull over, sir."


He guided the truck to the side of the road, letting the engine idle, and the car pulled up behind him. The light was still flashing, and it was only when Nick looked in the rear view mirror that he realized how dark it was outside tonight; the driver's side door of the car opened, and all he could distinguish was the silhouette of the person getting out. He grasped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, and a moment or so later there was a brisk tapping on the window beside his head; he pressed a button, and as the window slowly cranked down he tried to make out the face beneath the wide-brimmed hat.

"You mind turning the engine off, sir?" and Nick turned the key in the ignition; the low thrumming died, along with the music from the radio, and in the resulting silence he pulled in a deep breath. "Can I see your license and registration, please?"

"Sure," Nick said, fishing his wallet from his jeans and removing his license; he handed it over and then reached into the glove compartment for the registration papers, which he held through the gap in the window. "Listen, I'm a CSI, and..."

"And that means what to me, sir?"

"Well, you know, professional courtesy and all," Nick said, trying to smile but finding it a lot more difficult than he'd thought. "I'm sure I wasn't going that fast, was I?"

"A vehicle matching this description was involved in a robbery earlier this evening," was the terse reply. "Mind telling me what you were doing around eight thirty, Mr. Stokes?"

"I was still at work," Nick said. "Do I look like a robbery suspect to you, officer?"

"I don't think I like your attitude, sir," and there was an edge to the words that made something clench in the pit of Nick's stomach. "Step out of the truck."

"This is ridiculous," Nick said, half under his breath, as he crammed the keys into his pocket and stepped down from the truck. "I'm a -"

"Doesn't matter who you are," came the response. "I own this road, and whatever you say you do for a living doesn't mean a thing to me - now face the vehicle, please."

"Oh, what -?" In the next instant Nick's left arm was grabbed, and he was spun to face the side of his truck; cold metal encircled his left wrist and then his right as his hands were pushed to the middle of his back, and he saw a hat removed and placed on the hood of the truck before his legs were nudged apart with very little finesse. "You're searching me now?"

"Is there anything sharp in your pockets, sir?"

"No," he said through gritted teeth, trying to breathe evenly as the inside pockets of his jacket were rummaged through one by one; moments later hands braceleted each of his ankles in turn, pulled his socks outwards, ran up his thighs - and when they paused a split second too long at his crotch, making him attempt to close his legs, he found himself shoved against the truck with more force than before.

"Now, I could call that resisting an officer -" Before Nick had time to respond a hand was pushed roughly into the front pocket of his jeans, and seconds later a low chuckle echoed in the still air. "Well, look what I've found," a voice said in his ear, and he stared at the condom that was held tauntingly in front of his face for a second or two before being removed from his field of vision. "What are you really doing out here, Mr. Stokes?"

"Are you charging me with something?" Nick managed to say, but the words were barely audible - because there was no mistaking the prominent erection grinding against his ass as the man leaned forward, pressing him against the side of the truck. "Because if you're not..."

"Were you waiting for someone, Nicholas?" and the sound of this man speaking his first name aloud sent a jolt up Nick's spine. "Is that what you were up to when I stopped you?"


"You seen anyone pass by since I pulled you over? I bet that's why you picked this road, because it's so quiet - you could do whatever you wanted to out here and nobody would see you, is that what you thought? You forgot one thing, though," the voice continued. "Didn't count on me being out here, did you?"

"Please," Nick said, forcing the words out of a mouth that had gone dry. "Just let me..." and then his voice tailed off as something touched his side, denting his skin through his T shirt before moving slowly up his ribcage. Jesus, what is that? he thought, suddenly finding it impossible to move or speak; and as the object nudged the soft flesh below his jaw line, a breathless whine emerged from his lips - because he was miles from anywhere, handcuffed with what he was pretty sure was a gun held on him...

...and Christ, somehow despite all this he was getting hard.

"Let you what?" and breath warmed his ear as the words dropped in tone, becoming low and dirty and almost threatening. "Let you go home and forget this happened? Don't think so," and as Nick stood motionless, the cuffs biting into his wrists, a hand snaked around his hip to toy with his belt buckle. "You're not going anywhere until you learn not to do this on my road." Fingers worked the buckle loose, moved inside his jeans and past the waistband of his boxer shorts - and when they closed around his cock, grasping it with just enough firmness to make it harden even more, Nick's breath froze in his throat.

"Got somebody waiting at home?" the voice went on. "I bet you do, don't you? What do you think he'd say if he could see you now?" The hand began to work him slowly, and at the same time whatever was beneath his jaw was jabbed against it with more force; Nick squeezed his eyes shut, breath whistling from his lips as he struggled against the sensations being awoken in him against his will, and his ears picked up another chuckle.

"What does he call you? Nick? Nicky?" A wet stripe was licked slowly along his neck, making him bite his lower lip, and then the pressure below his jaw vanished abruptly as something hit the ground with a dull thud. His jeans and underwear were yanked down to his thighs, letting cool evening air play across newly-bared flesh; the sound of a zip ratcheting down barely reached his ears over the rapid pounding of his heart, and he twisted his head to one side just in time to see the torn remnants of a plastic wrapper flutter to the ground. He heard the man behind him spit, a soft noise that would normally have gone unnoticed but which sounded like the loudest thing in the world now; moments later, two slick fingers moved to the cleft of his buttocks and then deeper, opening him and working him roughly, and when he bit his lip again he did it hard enough to bring blood. The fingers were withdrawn, the abrupt loss of sensation wringing a harsh gasp from him even though an increasingly far-off part of his mind was telling him he shouldn't want this; then, after a pause that seemed to last far too long, there was a single thrust that pushed him against the side of the truck, stealing his breath and making him close his eyes again because the angle wasn't quite right...but then there was a shift, only a fraction, but it was enough to finally make him cry out as fingers closed round him again and the rhythm picked up. Words were gasped against his neck, drowned out by the blood roaring in his ears, and all he could do was arch himself into the hand that grasped him; breath sobbed in and out of his throat, synchronizing with thrusts that were threatening to lift him off his feet - then a thumb brushed over the head of his cock, so lightly he barely felt it, but it was enough to finish him and make his legs buckle as warm wetness spilled from him over his captor's grasping hand.


"Didn't think you had it in you to go through with that one," Greg whispered as he gently rubbed the marks left by the recently-removed cuffs on his lover's wrists. "You okay, babe?"

"Jesus," Nick said in a shaky whisper as his heartbeat slowed and feeling returned to his legs; he tilted his head forward until his lips met Greg's, his fingers clutching briefly at the younger man's sweat-matted hair before they broke apart and grinned conspiratorially at each other. "Where the hell did you get the outfit?"

"Someone who had no clue what I was going to do with it," Greg said, his face still flushed. "You gonna be able to drive?"

"You didn't wear me out that much," Nick said, trying to sound convincing but knowing from the soft chuckle that he hadn't succeeded. "Yeah, I'll be fine," and he straightened his clothes before sliding into the driver's seat of his truck; he closed the door, and then there was another slow, leisurely kiss through the rolled-down window. He heard Greg tell him to drive safely now, Mr. Stokes, and he was still grinning while he watched in the rear view mirror as his lover walked back to his own car; flexing his fingers to stop the residual tremors in his hands, he turned the key in the ignition and sang along to the radio all the way home.
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