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Beemer Me Up

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Nathan Stark has a problem.

 

When he’s mad, Nathan Stark drives like an idiot.

 

When he’s pissed at work, stuck on a problem or annoyed with his subordinates, he gets in his car and just drives.

 

It wasn’t a problem when Sheriff Cobb was around. The man couldn’t be bothered to notice, and he never patrolled the back service roads anyway. So Nathan used the long, gently winding strips to work out his frustrations. His own personal driving playground. He didn’t have that in D.C. So to have it again here, it was…

 

It was Heaven.

 

Nathan didn’t really get to have a teenage rebellion. He was labelled as a genius from early childhood, shepherded from one A-listed school to another, and while everyone else his age was out having cocktails made in their mouths and taking shots off each other’s belly buttons, he was in his dorm room, curled up with quantum physics textbooks and particle entanglement theorems.

 

He didn’t really get to do the frat boy thing.

 

Never got wasted – he didn’t want to lose the brain cells.

 

Never smoked – he knew too many medical doctors to do something so foolish.

 

Never even really slept around – despite his handsome face and impressive stature, Nathan had quickly discovered that most girls were still not willing to overlook his personality quirks. Staying up all hours with physics textbooks instead of the Kama Sutra, keeping corrosive chemicals in the living room, and turning his right kitchen wall into a giant whiteboard for equations tended to turn the girls off. Not to mention, mediocrity bored him.

 

So why was it then, that the town’s new Sheriff, who was - as far as Nathan was concerned - the very definition of mediocrity, was so…intriguing?

 

For the fourth time this week, Nathan found himself growling at his second-tier assistant, grabbing his keys, and heading for Global’s parking lot.

 

Sliding into his car felt like a homecoming. The supple leather curved in all the right places, was perfectly molded to him after years of time spent in this vehicle. He reached out and plucked the worn leather gloves from their place of honor on the passenger seat, slipping them on slow and sure. He stretched both hands, testing out the feel, reveling in the vestibular feedback, the subtle pressure of the material straining against his movements. Extending his right index finger, Nathan depressed the ignition switch, and the car roared to life around him. The engine hummed and, it seemed, so did his body. Nathan felt alive with energy, yet calm – assured. This was his domain. He was master of this vehicle; no one dared disturb him in it. No one except –

 

Nathan growled, low and menacing. He would not think of the Sheriff right now. Or, no, maybe he would. Maybe, he should give the Sheriff a show. A real reason to come after him, lights flashing and siren blaring. Yes, Nathan thought. Time to show the Sheriff what he’s been missing – and what he can really do behind the wheel of the perfectly tuned driving machine he called a car.

 

Carefully, Nathan placed his hands on the steering wheel, feeling the stitched leather casing give just a little as he flexed his fingers, leather pressing against leather, a slight creak, and then –

 

Nathan pulled one hand free, depressed the pedal with his right foot and the clutch with his left, and shifted the car into gear with a practiced flick of his right wrist.

 

Moments later, he was out of the Global parking lot and flying down the back service roads that no one ever used except for ridiculously large or covert deliveries to Global. But those were all routed through the Director, so he would know if he needed to steer clear. Today, there was nothing. Nothing all week even. The road was almost always completely deserted.

 

Nathan grinned as he shifted up another gear.

 

He was flying now, easily doing 80, the torque on his tires and the well-balanced chassis doing their job as his BMW zoomed over the road. Driving made Nathan feel like he was flying, like he was brave, like he was weightless, like he could do anything, like -

 

Like he was being followed.

 

He had just passed a small crossroad, nothing more than a dirt path, really, but there was the Sheriff’s vehicle, and sure enough, the Jeep was turning out, lights blaring and siren screaming.

 

Well, Nathan would just have to give him a show. The new Sheriff certainly deserved a good show-up. Everyone else in this town seemed to love and accept him automatically. Well, Nathan was far above average, even in Eureka. He prided himself on always having a unique perspective. And someone had to be the one to give the new town Sheriff a run for his money. Might as well be him.

 

Nathan took the upcoming turn at speed, his car hugging the road, the turn feeling tight, controlled, and just this side of dangerous. Exhilarating.

 

Nathan whooshed out a breath as he caressed the gearshift with his right hand, waited until he could see the Sheriff in his rearview, and then pressed up with his right hand and down with both feet. The car responded beautifully, kicking up into fifth gear.

 

Nathan was flying.

 

He’d never gotten high, but he imagined this is what it would have felt like.

 

The invincibility.

 

The sensation of weightlessness, a peculiar lightness of being.

 

The notion of doing something so wrong that felt so right.

 

Nathan smirked again, letting the Sheriff catch up a bit before shifting into the highest gear, blowing him away -

 

But not before he was sure the Sheriff had read the “STARK1” printed clear as day on his vanity plates.

 

The Sheriff may have won over the people, but Nathan fucking Stark still ran this town. Best to remind him.

 

Besides, the Sheriff couldn’t ticket him if he couldn’t prove anything. There were no cameras out on those back roads. No surveillance of any kind – the tree cover was too thick even for satellite photos. One deft turn down a barely discernable dirt path, a quick rumbling ride over the forested floor, and then Nathan was popping out again on the other side, Sheriff Carter left firmly in his dust.

 

Nathan smiled all the way back to Global, easily avoiding the Sheriff by taking the unmarked back road that he was sure not even law enforcement knew about.

 

Nathan Stark knew the area roads better than anybody.

 

And Sheriff Carter better know it.

Chapter Text

The second time it happens, Nathan is chagrined.

 

Sherriff Carter has taken to pulling him over for even mild speeding in town.

 

It is…vexing.

 

Alison thinks it’s hilarious.

 

Nathan does not find the Sheriff’s new hobby of sucking all the joy out of his life amusing in the least.

 

In fact, it’s driving him crazy.

 

He needs to go for a fucking drive, except he can’t because Jack fucking Carter will probably arrest him if he goes over 80.

 

Nathan Stark can’t fucking breathe if he can’t get to at least 85 once a week.

 

Jack Carter is killing him.

 

Well, Nathan thinks, standing up suddenly and scaring all the customers at Café Diem, fuck Jack Carter. Who cares what he thinks? Nathan doesn’t. And the DOD clearly doesn’t have a problem with Nathan’s unorthodox little hobby. Which doubles as an official fucking method, thank you very much. He earned that Nobel sitting in his office in no small part because of a drive he took in these very woods pushing 120 out in the boonies on a straight shot of service road. He’s pretty sure the skid marks he made when he braked to a halt to stop and record his breakthrough formula on his datapad are still there today. There might even be a plaque.

 

Does Jack Carter have a plaque?

 

No, Nathan doesn’t fucking think so.

 

Keys fisted in his right hand, Nathan stalks his way out of Café Diem, ignoring Alison’s half worried, half warning glare and subsequent glance at Carter.

 

He’s hitting 115 today and nobody can fucking stop him.

 

And if Jack Carter thinks he’s going to, well…

 

Let him fucking try.

 

Nathan throws himself into his BMW, stabbing at the ignition button impatiently with his whole palm. The car roars to life around him, but it doesn’t calm him; it just eggs him on. He depresses the accelerator and works the clutch with his other foot, slamming the car into reverse at a high speed before switching right into drive, forgoing use of the brake completely, and he’s speeding down Main Street doing at least 55 before the patrons at Café Diem have even closed their gaping mouths.

 

“Oh God,” Alison says quietly, and then immediately covers her mouth.

 

Carter looks irate. His face is red, and his brow is set in a hard, firm line.

 

“He, he does this, sometimes…” Alison says, trailing off.

 

“Oh really?” Carter asks, and his voice is deceptively calm. “He just…does this?” Alison nods uncertainly, visibly anxious at the growing ire in the Sheriff’s voice.

 

He seems to be debating something internally, and only a moment later, snaps his gaze up to meet her downcast eyes.

 

“Well, not today,” he says, and grabs his keys off the counter, too.

 

When Vincent notices the untouched burger and fries left in front of the Sheriff’s place at the counter, he winces. The Sheriff must really be angry with Dr. Stark if he’s leaving a burger behind.

 

Though, Dr. Stark did just break about 100 traffic laws in the span of about a minute, and is no doubt out there right now breaking more.

 

As Vincent ponders, the Sheriff’s Jeep roars to life outside and peels off, tires squealing and sirens screaming, and in its wake, everyone at Café Diem just stares.

Chapter Text

When Jack catches up to him, purely by luck and a niggling cop instinct to take some of the back roads he learned about recently from Jo, Nathan looks to be pushing 105 and showing no signs of slowing down. He takes a turn at reckless speed, but the car just glides right through it.

 

It annoys Carter how competent Nathan actually is. He’s competent in everything, really, but especially this. He’s clearly tuned the car himself, or maybe he has Henry help him do it regularly, and it’s clear that part of Nathan’s fascination with driving has to do with putting physics principles to use in practical, visceral application.

 

Jack even sort of understands that.

 

But Nathan Stark is a law breaker and a ridiculous behemoth of a man, and he shouldn’t get to get away with either. The whole town seems to bend to his will. Well, not Jack. It seems about time that someone stood up to Nathan Stark, and if no one else is going to step up to do it, well, then, he will.

 

So Jack presses the pedal to the floor, prays that Henry’s modifications hold, and careens around the corner that Stark just took with practiced ease.

 

So.

 

Annoying.

 

Stark knows he’s blowing Carter away, but on this straight stretch of road, he can still see the Jeep in the rearview, struggling to catch up.

 

He passes the tree with the arrow carved into it, and he would have barely registered it in the apart from the blur of green that is the world outside his window right now, except that he was looking for it. It’s one of Taggert’s old, leftover tracking signatures no doubt, but Nathan has been using it for years to gauge the timing for this exact maneuver. He still has a good few miles of straight road, and then it turns abruptly.

 

Nathan inhales deeply, shifts gears one last time, and presses the silver gas pedal down to the Beemer’s floor.

 

The car jolts a little at this last move, but Nathan holds it steady, his gaze sure, his hands securely wrapped around the wheel. Confident. Steady on. That’s how Nathan lives his life. He presses on, the car races forth, and as the world whips by around him, he risks the occasional glance at the odometer.

 

110.

 

111.

 

115.

 

Thank God.

 

Nathan feels a frisson of feeling pass through his body at the sheer relief of hitting that magic number. His frenzied anger starts to dissipate, replaced by exultation.

 

119.

 

Come on now…

 

121.

 

Almost there…

 

125.

 

Yes.

 

Ah, Nathan breathes out, his whole body shuddering like some kind of orgasmic release.

 

But he can push it a little more. He still has the room.

 

129.

 

132.

 

140.

 

143.

 

Nathan is panting, his skull pressed back against the headrest, his fingers fused to the wheel.

 

145.

 

147.

 

149.

 

152.

 

Nathan actually shakes violently this time, his body reacting to the endorphins flooding his system.

 

He loves this. He loves the speed, the chase, the thrill

 

God, he wants to have sex right now.

 

He closes his eyes, just for a millisecond, and lets himself imagine getting his dick sucked as he drives like this, pushing it to the limit, trying to time his speed markers with the harbingers of his impending orgasm, not wanting to tip over the edge too soon lest they crash…

 

Nathan flashes back to the present day in a near panic as Sheriff Carter’s face pops up in his mind, swimming somewhere between the gear pedals and the wheel, mouth open and wet…

 

And then he sees that his reverie has lasted longer than it should have, and quickly starts shifting down through the gears.

 

Will he have enough time?

 

Nope, probably not.


The Beemer will just have to take it.

 

Nathan braces his body, shifts down one more time, and depresses the brake at the same moment that he starts turning the wheel, sending the car into a controlled slide, drifting around the bend.

Chapter Text

Carter watches from about seven miles behind, dumbstruck, as Nathan Stark executes a maneuver he has heretofore only seen in movies.

 

When he catches up and finally rounds the bend himself (much more slowly and considerably less impressively), Nathan’s BMW is pulled off to the side. Jack gets out and approaches the vehicle.

 

Nathan is inside, unharmed, and…yanking roughly on his cock.

 

What?

 

“What the fuck are you doing, Stark?” Jack splutters, startling and stepping back as the window he just tapped on slowly rolls down. Jack can see that Nathan is still working his fist with his free hand. The left is still clamped firmly on the wheel, but his elbow is pressed down on the automatic window button set into the door.

 

And there in the car is Nathan Stark, looking up seductively, eyes hooded beneath long lashes.

 

“Get inside, Carter,” Nathan purrs.

 

“What?” Carter gapes again.

 

“Suck me off, Carter,” Nathan drawls, and although it’s a typical Nathan Stark order rather than a request, his voice is tinged with something that’s just a little bit less authoritative and a little more cavalier than usual.

 

“What?” Carter is stunned. And not just because of what Stark – Nathan - is asking. But because he wants to.

 

What.

 

The.

 

Fuck.

 

Wait. “Is – is there something out here?” Jack gestures around wildly, looking for the smoking gun. “Did something whammy us?”

 

“No, Jack,” Nathan says, and rolls his eyes, languid and impatient. And this time, he smiles, and God, it does things to Jack’s insides.

 

“No,” Nathan says, “I just really, really like driving.”

 

“Crave it, actually,” he adds casually, and punctuates the remark with a long, slow flick of his wrist.

 

“And you’ve been keeping me from it ever since you got here. I wonder why that is…” Nathan trails off.

 

“Listen, Sher- Jack,” he amends, still working his cock, “it seems to me that you and I butt heads a lot, and in science, when two elements don’t play nice, the results are usually…explosive.”

 

Raising one eyebrow, Nathan smirks again at that, only this time even wider.

 

“So, Sheriff…if you want to test this theory with me, you should really…

 

Get.

 

In.

 

The.

Car.

 

Come now, Sheriff,” Nathan goads, smiling wickedly.

 

Relieved and embarrassed and angry all at once, Jack does. But only for a second. As soon as he gets the door open and has Nathan distracted, he uses his momentum to pull Nathan from the car - pants undone, hair a sweaty mess, cock hanging loose, and all - and drags him into a fierce, dirty kiss.

 

“Fine, Scientist,” he says. “I’ll play your little game.” Pausing to lick Nathan’s neck, Jack continues. “But form here on out, no more of these little solo joyrides. You drive with me riding shotgun or not at all, and you’d better have your eyes ahead the whole time.”

 

Nathan, salivating, quickly nods his head.

 

“Look, I get how this goes, Jack says. “I think I can control you. You think you can control me. Let’s just skip that whole ridiculous pissing contest and get to the fun part. You, me, and a bed.”

 

Nathan nods again, and starts to get back in the car when he sees Jack walking around to the passenger seat and pauses.

 

Jack stops too, but only for a second before resuming the business of getting himself into the car. But then he throws in one final remark as he folds himself into the plush seat.

 

“And Nathan?” Jack says. “Keep in under 80.”

 

Nathan whines, but compromises and keeps it at a steady 85 the whole way to Carter’s weird bunker house.

 

This better work out. But then again, Nathan thinks, he’s never really made a wrong gamble before.

 

He smirks some more but holds the speed steady at 85, just like he said he would.

Well, sort of.