Chapter Text
So on a scale of one to megaton-suck, ending up idling at the one street light between the Fox Hole Lounge and the rest of the warehouse district No Man’s Land with the first dude to ever give him a lap dance was not that bad. Given where the night had first started, Dom considered this string of moments to be on an upward trajectory.
Electricity buzzed in Dom’s veins with an additional undercurrent of heat that ebbed and spiked as Brian waited for him. He felt too loose in his skin, still not back to rights after coming so hard so unexpectedly, but pleased that he’d worn dark pants to diminish his chances of embarrassment.
Dom rolled down the passenger window. “We race to the railroad crossing.” The dare being that he knew Brian was already up for it. And Brian rewarded him with a half-grin that made Dom want to cross the finish line already just to explore what was hidden underneath.
“Fine, the stakes?” Brian asked, churning the GT-R’s zippy engine. “Because, I don’t race for pinks anymore. Not that I lose--”the implication that he would be a challenge for Dom was almost cute "—I like keeping things less complicated and without hard feelings.”
Uncomplicated, Dom could do. He did it every day since Lompoc. Just lived his life in brief straight stretches of deep breaths and short drives that made his heart beat fast enough to affirm that he was free; that he was alive.
So Dom threw out, “When I win, we get breakfast.” A simple solution.
Complicated was following what happened in that backroom out onto a dark street and daring it to challenge him, and not so secretly hoping to be surprised. Uncomplicated would’ve been continuing to drive through the railroad crossing, back to Echo Park without a second look behind him.
Brian had obviously weighed Dom’s implication by the way he bounced in his seat and leaned closer to the wheel as if he would climb the dash and try to surf while he drove, just to push the envelope. He rocked fast and quick in his seat before asking, “And if I decide that I don’t want breakfast because I decide to beat you instead, what do I get?”
Smart ass. “What do you want?” Dom had a few ideas that would be mutually beneficial but decided to let Brian surprise him or not. “Gotta say we’re too old for backseat action.” And hitting a no-tell motel was just too skeezy for Dom’s limits. “But there’s leather back there, so we could take it as it goes.”
Brian grinned like Dom had already offered him the world’s biggest tip. So when he said, “Your respect,” Dom would be lying if he said that he was unsurprised. Seriously, of the things he wanted to give to Brian, respect hadn’t made the list. “I’ll even sweeten it and rat the friend out that got you the dance, but only if you beat me.” Added Brian, the GT-R humming to second him.
Between Vince, Leon, and Jesse, Dom had his money on Leon. Vince had been in front of him most of the night, buried six plates deep into busting a gut. While Leon and Jesse had moved through the club like lightning rods praying to get struck. If he’d bet on one of them to be ballsy enough to stick him in a back room with a dude—a very pretty dude—to grind on, then he’d pick Leon. Fucking logistics for the win.
“Alright. At the change of the light, we’ll see who gets what.” Dom tightened his knuckles over the wheel, stared down the stretch of dark road and waited for the light to send him barreling down a street that he didn’t know.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Green went the light and the Charger shook the road raising its torque as it growled and the GT-R’s purr swelled to an electric crescendo, and then they were blurring through the darkness. Time slowed while they moved through the world so fast.
The original owners of the Fox Hole Lounge had made a smart investment in its location in the seventies back when the port and the roads leading into it fed businesses like tributaries with the money of the dock workers. What better way to part those hard working men from their money than with flashing lights, pretty girls, and the promise of enough booze and food to forget whatever needed to be forgotten between Friday night and Monday morning.
As things went with the swell and ebbing tide of L.A.’s local and international economy, the port slowed down, those tributaries flowing from it dried, and few business along this road of chain linked warehouses and broken windows had lights to keep it illuminated. Trust that the Fox Hole Lounge was the one blazing beacon in the murky city dark behind them at the line.
The dark offered one advantage: seeing the lights of the semi that would otherwise have made mash potatoes of them and their cars. So Dom spared Brian a sidelong glance who was already looking at him, then dropped the clutch and they were drifting –left first then right in a sinuous arc towards the loose rock and dirt of an abandoned lot and away from the semi’s lights.
Those moments just prior were built for instant replay. The Charger agreed by rumbling low and sweetly as Dom rolled to a stop and parked. Brian had already popped up and out of the GT-R, all but skating in long strides to join Dom in front of the car. His adrenaline drunk smile brighter than the Fox Hole’s neon glowed at Dom and drew him into returning it with one of his own. No doubt had a real cop come by they would’ve walked the line and said the ABCs and jumped through whatever other sobriety hoops, because they were indeed drunk on that synchronized drifting high.
There was so much genuine excitement in Brian despite losing that Dom wondered how he would’ve reacted if he’d won. “I almost had you!” He crowed proudly.
Mia had described Dom as sensitive in regards to his skills which were developed from hard work, natural talent, gifts from the divine, like sacred vows passed down from generation to generation. There was a story about a horse and buggy in the old country, according to his Pop, illustrating just how deep the instinct to drive and navigate was saturated in the Toretto line. Thus, giving him the right to take offense towards the implication that Brian (or anyone) was on his level, whether true or false.
He fell back into cold habit of busting balls as was his right as the proclaimed—self and public—Street King. “Had me? Well, I could say almost. But almost ain’t winning, so, no, you didn’t have me. ”
Rolling with Dom’s blow to his ego, Brian shrugged and continued to grin. “Where I come from if you drift with someone like we did, then you have to be dead even. But you might do things differently where you’re from.” Brian eased off the throttle of excitement and settled down graciously. “I’ll get you next time.” He promised.
“You think I do repeats for everyone I beat? I don’t have enough time for that.”
Brian’s sly look spoke for itself. “I think you do what you want. Especially when it feels good. And I know you liked what you just did with me.” In many ways.
Only one word seemed appropriate to describe what the Charger and the GT-R had just done together: dancing. And suddenly Dom hadn’t felt such excitement about a dance since seventh grade when he wore his first and last tie and went the whole night without stepping on Rita Montenegro’s feet. Thirteen then and already so young, so gifted.
“Are you always so sure of yourself? Being that cocky might get you in trouble.” Brian would have to be if he was getting naked in front of strangers on a frequent basis. The guy looked like apple pie but drove like he was a person of interest.
The responding look that Dom got clearly outlined the trouble Brian could be with little effort. Being cocky was a quality in Brian’s line of work that would more blessing that curse. “Only about the things I’m good at.” Brian leaned in beside Dom, close enough to broadcast some of those things he happened to be good at in his eyes and made promises that Dom had to adjust his stance to handle.
“Since you beat me this time, do you wanna get that breakfast I owe you?”
Dom nodded. With the checker pattern of business lights surrounding them, Dom didn’t have much faith that food would be found around here but he figured he would leave the navigating to Brian. “You know any places around here?”
“Yeah, I know a few places and one that won’t give you hepatitis.” Brian quipped with a ton of cheek. Again, Dom reflexively responded with a low key smile.
How the familiar ebb and flow of airy bullshit could be so easy between them was a mystery. They’d experienced something in the backroom and the miraculous turn at drifting had set them in further unfamiliar territory for Dom: Brian was almost—Brian was honestly his equal behind the wheel, harnessing a sense of anticipation and muscle memory that Dom could only describe as an extension of himself.
“Follow me… if you can keep up.” Then Brian strode away to the GT-R and only waited for Dom to slam his own door shut before jetting off down the lonely road leading away from the Fox Hole Lounge.
For a brief moment, he stared at himself through the rearview mirror. He expected to see judgment in his own eyes, instead found none. “You must be tired, because you’re obviously crossing lines and coming into lanes that you don’t know about.” He uttered to himself, then shifted gears and drove off.
Brian led him six blocks north and twelve blocks east to the glowing silver paneled façade of what had to be one of the oldest diners in Southern California.
Dom parked near the first door leading inside but still within the wide spotlight of the twenty-four sign with fewer working bulbs than Dom had hair on his head. He evaluated the old building and threw a questioning glance Brian’s way. “You sure hepatitis isn’t on the menu here? Because it looks like it might be served with a side of fries and a shake.”
Brian walked with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets and flapped them outward as a show of surrender. For what remained unspoken. “Naw, but eat the pancakes and you’ll be willing to take the risk if they did.” Normally, Dom found his patience burned quick when faced with repeated brushes with smart asses and sarcasm; a caustic side effect from too many spot battles turned into wars of words with Letty.
“So?” Brian looked expectantly as he stood in front of Dom.
“So.” Dom replied, shifting to anticipate Brian’s next move, who outside of his car telegraphed few clues about himself or his motivations. Dom hadn’t gotten a clear read on him yet.
The follow-up to the volley of sos led Brian to lean closer and Dom to cant towards him. “Are we gonna do this now or not?”
Crazy was a recurring descriptor that he could tag on Brian. Because any man, not just Dom, would think Brian was really crazy for proposing to get action within the open parking lot of the Dock East Diner. If he’d mentally squashed the prospect of creeping at a no-tell motel, then he winced in reaction to the idea of here and specifically now. No. Just no.
He staunched the incredulity in his voice before continuing. “Here?” Then looked at the supposedly empty parking lot and Brian who waited within arm’s reach, considered the scale of risks to benefits of the situation, and then calculated the value of getting whatever Brian was offering was greater than both. “Sure, where do you want me?” Before the night was over, he’d rack up a tab of risks taken that would nearly match the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year combined.
“I thought you wanted under my hood?” Oh, right, Dom exhaled, profoundly relieved.
Dom course-corrected hard. “Show me what you’ve got.”
The hood lifted and they huddled together to inspect heart inside, Brian waiting patiently albeit proudly for Dom’s critiques. Admittedly, there was nice work underneath; not at all the beginner set-up that Brian had led Dom to believe when they were standing in the Fox Hole Lounge’s lot.
The end of show-me-yours-and-show-you-mine got them seated in an empty window booth overlooking the infrequent too early morning traffic. He’d trusted Brian’s recommendation and ordered pancakes and coffee from a waitress who seemed to know Brian but was too far gone into the late shift to be overly friendly.
Brian settled for the garbage omelet that promised to trash the customer’s hunger by offering a little bit of everything between the egg folds. From the description alone, it would be worth the price just to see Brian attempt it. If it was really as ridiculous as it sounded Dom would have to tell Vince who would probably attempt to break the diner’s record if there was one.
As a kid, Dom had always like maps. Had liked trying to figure out different ways to get to the same place because each time he knew there would be something different to be seen along the way. Faced with Brian’s undivided attention, he wanted a map of Brian, the details of which he could fill in with enough time. “How’s a boy like you get a car like that?”
Brian smirked. “That’s easy: just worked my ass off to get it.”
Dom gave him a seriously look. Because Brian didn’t seem to take much seriously. The stripper who made jokes about stripping. Dom hadn’t known many strippers to be so aplomb about their jobs. Brian was different, he reminded himself.
Brian further offered, “I really did work my ass off to get the car. The mods have been a stop-go work in progress when there’re bills that take priority. But I think I’ve found a way to give the Skyline the attention it deserves.”
Framed that way, stripping was lucrative. “And then you drive like that.” Dom stated. “Seems like a weird skill set for you since you’re a stripper. Unless you make house calls promising clothes off in thirty minutes or less. ”
Brian started, then Dom joined him laughing, seemingly too loud in the quiet diner. Brian scrunched the white straw wrapper between his fingers while shaking his head softly. “House calls are a little…too upscale for the Fox Hole. Actually, I drive like that because I got into a lot of shit as a kid—a whole lot of shit with boosted cars—and kept up my skills while I just happen to be a stripper.” The wrapper condensed into an amorphous ball drowned by the stray drops of condensation from Brian’s glass of water.
Continuing, Brian said, “A pro and con list really got me here,” so honestly that Dom felt sad for him that stripping had come out on top of the list. “Dancing was easy. Like driving, I’d picked it up years ago and just needed to practice to get better. Can’t say I regret it either. It’s got it’s weird moments like any other job but I clear more doing two nights a week than two weeks at my 9 to 5.“
That earlier sad empathy got kicked to the curve; now Dom could see why Brian had asked for his respect and felt further inclined to give it to him. “Takes guts to get up there and be that exposed with or without the dancing. By the way-- from the talent I scoped out tonight, you’re the only one that can legit dance and doesn’t flail around shaking his junk just cuz it can wiggle.” Those firefighters would forever haunt Dom for the rest of his life.
“Thanks, but it’s not courage that gets you up there: it’s bills. Most of the girls I know on the other crew are struggling through college. Make the shit I’m scramblin’ to pay for look cheap.” Mia was in college. Dom refused to move further with the thought.
Keeping it light, Brian transitioned to trying for Dom’s respect again. “You liked my skills even if you’re too cool to admit it. I know impressed when it’s staring at me. ”
“I’ve seen worse.” Definitely had seen drivers who couldn’t swing right on a one-way street in daylight with no traffic without bumping the curve. Brian was good. Dom hadn’t seen much better, except himself, and he wasn’t about to admit that Brian could have beaten him. “Seen better too.” The better being just him.
“Better, yeah.” Brian replied speculatively. “You’re the last man standing after your first visit to the Fox Hole. Did your guys make it out alive?”
Just barely. “Yeah, they made some friends. It got dicey with that one bachelorette party where it looked like the Maid of Honor was gonna get pile-driven by the bride. ” His guys had enjoyed themselves. Leon and Jesse got to be rockstars for a night and be swarmed by more women than bees in a hive and Vince? Vince proved that he was part snake because he ate like he could unhinge his jaw. “That place was a little wild—way wilder than I ever expected.” Not that he’d ever given a place like Ladies Night at the Fox Hole Lounge any thought. “I felt like I was in a shark cage at the table with the way those chicks circled. I like attention but not so much when I feel like I’m gonna leave with a broken limb.” Or a broken pelvis.
“Trust me, tonight wasn’t that wild. I’ve seen that place when it’s a madhouse, and it made me not buy into the hype that women couldn’t be as rough as men. Chicks can be way worse.”
The waitress—Flo—swept in silently, sliding one dish stacked with plate-sized pancakes in front of Dom and an omelet the size of a trash can lid in front of Brian. There was no false advertising in it being a garbage omelet after all.
Dom asked, then took a bite of the mini-tower of pancakes. “How’d you know it was my first time?” Brian was right; they were worth a brush with hepatitis.
“Observation, mostly. You looked like a man waiting for the firing squad when you were sitting at that table. Like you feared that you were going to be jumped and eaten alive. Trust me, like I said, Ladies Night can get rough but--” Brian gave Dom the kind of slow eye stroke that made him sit up straight. Possibly puff out his chest a bit and relax his shoulders to demonstrate how broad they were. Just maybe. “—you look like you can handle yourself.”
So Brian had been watching him.
The transition to real talk began when Brian leaned into the cracked red leather of the booth, allowing his body to sag from what Dom could only assume to be a number of things--the hour, the fatigue after a full shift, exhausting his primary and secondary reserves of adrenaline. Despite it all, he continued to focus on Dom, keeping him isolated yet warm inside the ice tunnel of his gaze.
Brian hadn’t started on his omelet yet. Just chilled until he started off, “So. First time, Dom. First time down the Fox Hole and I gotta say you survived it better than most.” Dom considered just how deceiving looks could be. “And didn’t get snatched up by anyone either.” Which had to be the world’s greatest half-truth.
“Not quite scarred for life but it was a near thing. It got better,” Dom offered and smirked at the remembered mask of horror Vince’s face had become the moment they stepped inside. “It feels like I should say thanks since you’re the one who took me on an unexpected turn.”
Brian just quirked his lips, making a tired attempt at a smile. Dom noticed immediately and sat up. “I’m not sure how you figured this would go,” Brian’s face confessed that he wasn’t sure where this was going either, “-- even though I know better I’m willing to give you a shot.”
Not sure whether he was amused that Brian had such high standards or that Brian considered him to be the risky one in this situation. “You think I’m the gamble here?” Dom chuckled dryly.
“You’re the one taking a walk or stroll or whatever on the wild side. Maybe it’s for a night or a week. But I kinda live here. Professional instinct says not to get invested but I’m stubborn. My teachers always told me it was my primary character defect. But I might do something out of the ordinary if you do something for me.”
Dom stopped eating and set down his fork, stalling the rapid demolishing of the pancake stack. “What do you need from me?” It was a question that made his stomach churn like he was still caught in the centripetal force of the drift. A question that he’d been asked far too frequently as of late.
Brian held up a solitary finger. “I may reconsider if you answer one question for me.”
Feeling challenged, Dom felt compelled to prove Brian wrong. “Hit me.”
“Why did your friends bring you there tonight? It’s obvious that you were surprised by the club but you came looking for something. I wanna know what?”
The list of things Dom was looking for was innumerable. Some were obvious: piece of mind, escape, an exit were easy to nail down. The years in Lompoc coupled with the months on house arrest had churned a rough and uneasy sediment into his thoughts and veins. Him and Let, which had always been good, had spiraled off-center and down into a constant tug of war of bruised ego, jealousy, and unconquerable distance. She cursed him for changing while he swore that he hadn’t. So calling it quits had been the first easy thing between them in months.
Finally, Dom answered. “Freedom.” The truest definition of a real reset.
The silence of the Dock East Diner wasn’t stagnant. The slide and click of forks and knives over the ceramic plates disrupted the cool tide of quiet. From the kitchen, the wailing cords of eighties hair metal stirred as the grill hissed and steamed. It wasn’t the oppressive quiet associated with cold judgment; whatever scale Brian was balancing as he watched Dom watch him swayed easily between pro and con without rousing more than curiosity and hunger from Dom.
Brian leaned forward and picked up his fork. “I told you the pancakes were worth it.” The decision was made.
Inches away from taking his first bite, the electronic falsetto of I’m a hustler baby,I just want you to know, it ain't where I been... disturbed the calm of the diner.
“Shit,” Brian muttered as he began fishing for his phone trapped within his jeans. Pharrell’s voice began a second refrain, seeming impossibly annoyed that it had been ignored the first time. Finally, with his phone in hand, Brian apologetically asked, “Gimme a sec, okay?”
Dom agreed with a nod.
Two things were apparent about the voice on the other end: it was loud and it was male. And it did plow ahead asking questions, notably about food and whether Brian could bring some home.
“—yeah, I’m at the diner,” Brian looked at his plate wistfully. “I’ll bring you something, but you‘ve gotta do something about that noise. It’s stupid o’clock in the morning, the house should be quiet.”
The voice spiked in volume, causing Brian to jerk back from the phone and narrow his eyes into cobalt lines. Dom made out the guy yelling something about Po-Po comin’ and asses need to be movin’.
Brian made a complicated series of gestures at the waitress who seemed to interpret them without issue. Because seconds later, the earlier sound of the grill made sense when she placed two tied plastic bags loaded to bursting with Styrofoam containers and an additional container with a bag for him on the table.
“See you in a minute,” Brian promised, then disconnected. He looked to Dom then the bags. “Yeah, that’s my brother. He’s, like, food psychic— Dogs hear whistles and he hears anybody pick up a fork. You pick up a fork ten miles away, he knows and wants to know what you’re eating and if you can bring him some. He’s lucky he’ll get shit since I had to pull a double for him tonight.”
Dom felt equal parts relief that the voice was Brian’s brother and amusement because Vince was similar, though thankfully not psychic, about food. “I’ve got one of those, too. So from the looks of the pile-up here, I’m thinkin’ you’re gonna cut out on me.”
Nodding, Brian started scrapping his plate. “Yeah, but I’m not the dine and dash type. Flo knows the score so that’s why the food--” he mimed poof with his hands, “—appeared and Imma about to disappear.” He handed Flo a series of bills and closed his wallet without the expectation of getting change. “I got you, too.” Meaning that Dom needn’t worry about the bank-breaking four ninety-nine of the pancakes.
Dom understood troubles at home. The break-up might have resolved one, but the rest, he’d placed on the back burner tonight lingered in the dark like monsters in the closet. He diverted going down that rabbit hole by snagging his thoughts on something Brian had said about his brother. “Your brother dances, too?”
“Dance, yeah. He’s a stripper, too. Family business, you could call it.” He joked, laughing without reserve, further demonstrating a complete lack of self-consciousness about anything that had gone down between them this night.
“I don’t wanna just leave but I gotta get home.” Dom understood and nodded. “So here’s me saying that stripper doesn’t mean easy. I have a three date minimum before you can round my bases, if you know what I mean, and I know you like a challenge.”
The challenge Brian presented was as foreign as it was familiar. Brian’s bluster stoked Dom’s competitive streak and Brian himself represented the possibilities of roads yet to be traveled. Only if Dom were brave enough.
No one had nor ever would call Dom a coward. “By my count, I’ve only got one more.” Dom declared and counted off, “On the road and in here. Where I’m from we call it foreplay.” Challenge accepted obviously.
That magnetic grin returned, and yeah, Dom was glad he hadn’t continued driving through the railroad crossing. “Well, we’ll take our time with that one then. Give me your phone.” Dom handed it over and Brian tapped his number in and called himself to get Dom’s.
Then things took a murky turn for Dom. What was he supposed to do now? Did he stand and walk him out? Hug? Shake his hand? He knew what he did with his friends, but Brian wasn’t angling to be his friend.
Again, Brian saved him from the perils of over-thinking. “Let me know how those pancakes work out and when you’re ready for a rematch.” Then he stood after grabbing the bags and left.
He watched Brian drive away and wondered where were those feelings of freak out. Of panic? In one night, he’d sat captive to a strip show—all male!—then drifted and made promises of hooking up with another dude that he really wanted to get to know better.
There was no freak out coming apparently, just the impending satisfaction of giving Brian shit for those neon blues in his undercarriage.
He returned to his pancakes. They were pretty damn good.
A few hours later when it was morning for the rest of the city, Dom stood in the kitchen making coffee so that Mia didn’t have to. He’d never been an early riser but Lompoc dried up the need to sleep excessively. A few hours and he was good.
Sleep hadn’t shaded the events of hours prior. Instead, Dom was left with one lingering question. He started a text as Mia entered the kitchen, zeroing in on the coffee like a hawk to prey. It was her fuel and currency on school days.
“You got in late,” she said as she poured. “Did you have a good night?”
“Yeah, I did. It started off weird but it got better. Much better.”
His phone buzzed.
