Title: Pit Stop
Summary: It's just payment.
Rating: M
Pairing: Travis/Alex
Warnings: Slash, kind of but not really graphic porn.
Disclaimer: Silent Hill is not mine because I am a complete and utter pansy.
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BUT FIRST, A NOTE.
Today I received a review from la-raton, in which I was informed that fanart had been drawn based on that one fanfic I wrote about Alex and Travis and, um, payment for his truck drive to Shepherd's Glen.
I really, really like it, especially since it's not SPARKLY KAWAII MOEMOE ANIMU bullshit. Again, thank you la-raton!
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Maybe he should have known that he wouldn't be able to rely on the kindness of strangers alone. Or maybe he had been taking it for granted, especially after something as horrible as war.
He had walked for about half an hour before deciding it would be far easier to flag down the truck that was pulling past. The driver, kind enough, allowed him to hop in.
A few words of good nature were exchanged, such as, “Where are you going? You a soldier? How long have you been away from home?” Alex answered them all, and thought that he rather liked this driver with his gruff laugh and coarse hands.
It was a good three or four hours later, when Travis had stopped the truck at a small diner that those hands were wrapped firmly around his hips. It's just payment, Alex thought, yet he was perfectly willing as the trucker gave a throaty murmur of, “You've got a pretty mouth, boy,” his breath reeking of something alcoholic.
Those hands weren't so unpleasant either, as they snaked past briefs to fondle that thing – that thing Alex hadn't touched or even thought about for a long time, because it sure as hell wasn't as important as preserving one's own life.
Well, that's what he would think in any situation, except for this one.
And as though to remind him that: “Easy soldier, I'm no fairytale princess” - Travis pulled Alex's pants down in one swift movement, leaving bare skin and sensitive organs exposed to the cold, ready to swell at his discretion.
Maybe this was a common occurrence for the trucker, or maybe he was just constantly counting his lucky stars, because the older man suddenly pulled out a tiny foil packet and a bottle of lube. “Relax, kid, and keep your eyes on the prize.”
Somehow, this made Alex inclined to focus his eyesight on his own reflection on the hood of the truck, barely visible thanks to the poor lighting of this desolate place. Then he was pushed roughly and he could feel something inside him, something that didn't feel bad, but still felt weird. It rubbed against his insides insistently.
Travis made no attempt to silence himself, instead grunting “Yeah” every few thrusts, which were deep and fast and -
Kinda like a gun... a pump-action, or a recoil, or
And he suddenly felt that weird something twitch, like that of a gun firing.
Then there was Travis, lying heavily against him, somewhat crushing his ribs, pulling out and tossing the condom somewhere.
“Pit stop's over, soldier. Get your gear on and let's move.”
END
A/N: But you shouldn't drink and drive!
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