Sex and Sports Cars

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Rating: R to NC-17

Warnings: Slash, sexual situations, some language

Disclaimer: Mine. Well, Brad Pitt and Los Angeles aren't mine. Obviously, I don't own Lamborghini, Aston Martin, Mercedes, or Hummer. All other brand names don't belong to me either.

Author's Note: Okay, so, I know I shouldn't have started a new story, but I really couldn't help myself. I'm half way through chapter three of Well Smack My Ass and Call Me Sally, so that should be within the next couple of days. I was sitting, peacefully, minding my own business and Jackie came up and slapped me in the face. He proceeded to request that I write him and Aubrey down, so here they are. Currently, this is my second priority, the first being Smack My Ass. So that will be updating more often than this; well, I can't guarantee anything, since, as you all know, it depends on inspiration. Reviews are highly appreciated and adored.

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Chapter One

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"Oh… fuck… Aubrey!"

Yeah, that'd be me screaming my little heart out, and you can't blame me for being vocal, because Aubrey gives the best head in the whole world. Oh, the man is incredibly talented with his mouth and his tongue and his throat and I am officially daydreaming. Except, I guess, since I've actually got him in between my legs with his lips still wrapped around my cock it doesn't really qualify as a dream. Oh no, this is delicious reality. How'd I get so lucky?

"I love it when you scream like that for me, baby," he pulls away and flashes me that famous grin of his: all perfect, white teeth and roguish charm. In a teasing maneuver, he flicks his tongue across his lips and I can feel my stomach fill with a fluttering mass of butterflies. I swear I haven't seen a man oozing so much pure sex in my entire life. Aubrey is perfect, there's no denying that. What I mean is of course he's got personality flaws and nasty habits and he's a total bear in the mornings, but we fit together like two puzzle pieces – you know the ones that your cat swats under the bookshelf? Yeah, those lost ones.

Or, well, really, I'd be that one, final missing piece. I guess you can say that Aubrey found me and he's attached himself like a leech. In fact, the man hasn't let go of me in four years, and I don't see that happening any time soon, we're practically super glued together. I don't think I could have asked for a better person to spend the rest of my life with. We've both got our flaws and all, but we've learned to overlook insignificant issues most of the time.

Like any normal couple we do fight, after all, perfect relationships just don't exist, but it's never too bad. But even four years later, I'm not really sure if I'm in love. Rather, I'm sure, but I'm afraid to tell him for real; yes, my last relationship was that bad.

I'm still panting and trembling from my orgasm and Aubrey's lips and teeth on my neck aren't helping matters much; well, I guess they are, because I'm getting all hot and bothered again. I don't think I've been with a single person who is as good in bed as Aubrey; I mean he's incredible. But he's also forgetting that we're expected at a party in a little over an hour.

"Hey, babe," I manage to moan through the nips he's leaving at the indent of my collarbones, "Shower now."

"Mm, fuck that party."

"Aubrey!"

I push him away playfully, sternness coating his name as I make my way to the bathroom.

"Val won't be that upset if we don't go," he whines at my back.

"I'll give you some hot loving in the shower," I reply with what I hope is a sultry look thrown over my shoulder. My voice, and this I know, is a sexy little purr I perfected just so I could bribe Aubrey into going to parties. The life I lead really isn't his scene; we come from drastically different backgrounds, where as I have grown accustomed to wealth, he was raised in a trailer park. I find his attitude endearing, even if I have fallen out with a few members of my social circle since we met.

As I had known it would, my last comment yanks Aubrey to his feet as a string would a marionette, and I can feel his hands on my hips as I turn on the water. I can't really define the exact thing I love about him, because there's too many, but his practically constant horniness is definitely on that list.

Beneath the steaming stream of the shower, Aubrey slams me back against a wall; pain registers in the back of my mind, but his teeth playing with my nipples overcome it. My fingers tangle in his hair reflexively and I pull him up into a kiss; he's practically ravishing me. That's another thing I love about Aubrey – his forcefulness. He's like a wild animal at times and it's a total turn on for me; I have no choice but to succumb to my fate and that concept isn't too daunting, since the future blatantly promises incredible sex.

I can feel my thoughts dwindling, twirling down the drain with the water as Aubrey presses his palm against my groin and unabashedly feels me up while his tongue traces rivulets of water across my jaw and over my collarbones. It doesn't last for long though, once he's got a little bit of a reaction down there, he's flipped me around. In most other situations I don't particularly appreciate my face being slammed into a wall, but circumstances vary and now the impact of my chest against the water-slicked tiles only turns me on even more.

"You are so fucking hot, babe," Aubrey breathlessly growls into my ear, biting down on my earlobe as he pushes a finger inside me. It hurts a little, yeah, but gods, does he know my limits exactly. The only sound I can make in response to his comment, mainly because my face is pretty much crushed against the wall is a moan. But that quickly turns into a whimper as he pushed another finger inside and begins scissoring.

"Oh… fuck… right there's perfect," honestly, I'm surprised I actually managed to form a sentence, and I'm quite sure talking hurt, but I can't fight my impulses; not when Aubrey's pressing his fingers right up against where they should be and mercilessly sending me to heaven. The truth is that the man is brutally and delightfully good at anything he does, finger fucking his boyfriend is no exception to that rule. Too soon, though, his fingers are gone and I can't help but shiver with anticipation as I feel the familiar nudge against my ass.

It hurts a little, but Aubrey just keeps going, pushing forward relentlessly, but slowly. As I said, he knows my limits and he knows exactly what I like. Sex in the shower, by the way, is pretty much the hottest thing in my life and I'm sure he feels the same way about it. It's such a huge turn on, seriously, the flow of the water and the slippery slide of skin on skin. Absolutely incredible, really and unparalleled in eroticism; now too, his hands slipping around to grip me in front and his hips grinding me harder and faster into the wall, it's my undoing.

Supernovas burst behind my eyes and I can hear myself gasp out Aubrey's name as he trembles against my back and presses me harder than ever before into the wall. I can feel every bit of his weight as he collapses against me and it's reassuring, his hand clutching my hip hard enough to leave bruises tells me he won't let go. It's another reason I love him.

"Yeah," he whispers about forty seconds later, "I'm definitely ready to go to Val's party now."

"Told you, babe."

"You know how to pull all my strings, love."

"It's only fair, you yank mine."

"Aw, Jackie!" He knows I hate it when he calls me that, "Give me some credit, I can be subtle."

I snort with laughter at that one, squeezing a dollop of shampoo into his palm before he starts to massage it, sensually, into my cheekbone length and perpetually messy hair. I've tried to shave my head five times in the past seven months, and every single time Aubrey has dragged me away from the hair salon. So now I make him wash my hair for me, because I hate how it tangles so bad and I really want to just hack all of it off. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I can't figure out which, I have a boyfriend that threatens to withhold sex if I cut all my hair off.

We probably spend more time than we should in the shower, and by the time we actually untangle ourselves from each other, which is only after another round of very satisfying blowjobs, it's obvious that we are running very late for the party. But in my society, since it still isn't Aubrey's, even after four years, it's fashionable to be late, and for an event as informal as I know this is going to be, one can take certain liberties with punctuality.

Even with the amazing round of sex we had in the shower, Aubrey is still complaining about the outfit I'm practically forcing him into. The difference between us is that I'm a trust fund baby and thus I am completely accustomed to Armani and D Aubrey on the other hand put himself through college by working two part time jobs and taking out a small fortune in student loans. Since, I've helped him pay the latter off, with huge protests on his part, and even though, because of the inheritance I've received from my not-so-recently deceased parents, neither of us needs to have a job, he still works as a substitute teacher. I guess he feels bad being dependent on me for everything. What he doesn't realize is that without him I'd probably be an alcoholic with ten appointments for therapy fifteen times a week.

I try to give him everything and anything he wants that I can afford (and I can afford almost anything), but the stubborn ass just keeps refusing. I really do love him, and I don't exaggerate when I say that I would probably be dead without him.

Anyway, tonight's party isn't formal; even so, I'm having sufficient trouble stuffing Aubrey into the (very sexy) Diesel jeans I got him for his last birthday and an Armani leather jacket. See what I mean? I try to pamper him and he still prefers thrift store threads (or rags). But I do have to make a good impression on my friends and, god as my witness, Aubrey will be there right alongside me decked out in expensive, brand name clothing. I really try not to think just how gorgeous he looks when he sulks in those jeans – it makes me want to peel them off of him using only my teeth. Speaking of which…

"Babe, you wear those jeans without sulking at the party and I'll take them off you using only my teeth when we get home."

He perks up considerably.

"If you wear eyeliner."

An ultimatum, how interesting; of course, this is the normal order of business between us. And I must admit, Aubrey's right, I look drop-dead-gorgeous in a touch of make-up… But so does he.

"You too."

"Deal."

He seals it with a bite to my neck that I know will not fade for the next few days. Oh, don't get me wrong, I don't mind showing off his marks to my friends and the ex-boyfriends that are inevitably at every party, since we're in the same social circle; that does not mean that I enjoy the teasing – I'm pale, I blush easily. Aubrey says that when I do blush he wants to drag me into the nearest dark corner and ravish me, which only makes me blush more and develop certain issues in my pants. Since he spends most of the party with his hand around my waist and in my back pocket, copping a squeeze at every opportunity he gets, I tend to develop very significant problems, which inevitably require quickies in the bathroom and a decidedly more rumpled appearance upon exiting said bathroom.

The thing about celebrities in Los Angeles is that they always drive themselves around, and I admit, while I am not Brad Pitt or anything, I do appear in the tabloids once in a while. Anyway, Aubrey's standing by the door of our rather large house in the Hollywood Hills, twirling a set of keys impatiently around his finger as I try again, unsuccessfully, to smooth the chocolate colored strands of my hair down and add on one final layer of black eyeliner.

"Jackie!" I can tell from his tone that he's impatient, "Come on!"

I can tell that he's anxious to get out the door as soon as possible so we can get home sooner and I have to hold up to that promise I made him. I envy Aubrey the ease with which his hair styles itself; I put hours into styling, which are probably unfounded, because I have the typical pretty-boy looks anyway. Hollywood has gifted all of its children, in whose number I count myself, with out insecurities. Aubrey, on the other hand, is completely at ease, leaking a relaxed, uncompromised self-confidence that only adds to the liquid sex he exudes.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

"If you don't hurry you're cute little ass up I'm forfeiting the party and spending the rest of the night fucking you into nirvana."

I almost pass up the party to take him up on that offer. But finally my hair resembles something similar to a style and I'm ready to go, brushing up against Aubrey when I walk past him. He doesn't let me get far, however, grabbing me around the waist to drag me into a heated kiss. It is very possible that we have highly overactive libidos, actually its practically scientifically proven fact. I lick his nose and pull away, making my way towards the sleek, black Aston Martin Vanquish that I treated myself to for my twenty-fourth birthday. He takes the opportunity to smack my ass, and for the second time, I find myself wanting to, as he so eloquently put it, 'fuck the party.'

I know that Val won't care if I show up for the opening of the new club or not, but I've already missed a few too many social gatherings this year. Even if I'm not Brad Pitt, I have a reputation to hold up and if it involves passing up part of a night of steamy loving, well, so be it. After all, I can always tempt Aubrey into saying he can't substitute a class, and then I have him for an entire day.

"Can I drive?"

"No one drives my baby but me."

I'm very protective of my Aston Martin. Even when it comes to Aubrey, and rightfully so, the man is a speed demon, and undoubtedly a terrible driver.

"Hey! I thought I was your baby."

"No, you're my scrumptious love muffin."

"What the hell is a scrumptious love muffin, Jack?" Aubrey wrinkles his nose for a few moments, though he soon forgets about the ridiculous pet name I gave him seconds ago, "Can I still drive?"

He waves the keys at me. That had slipped my mind entirely.

"Only if we take the Porsche."

As I said, I'm very protective of my baby, and Aubrey just isn't the kind of person I would trust with five hundred twenty horse power in a steel shell that costs a little over two hundred fifty thousand. I'm not sure I trust myself behind the wheel of the Aston, which is why we own a Porsche GT3, a Mercedes SLR and a Saleen S7 Twin Turbo besides – and those are only the expensive ones; I've always been into cars, really into cars, and I dish out ridiculous amounts of money for pretty, sporty vehicles. The latest of which has been the newly released Lamborghini Murciélago LP640 Roadster - it was worth every last penny of the three hundred fifty thousand I spent on it, every last one.

"Alright, fine, we'll take the Porsche."

"Oh come on, Aubrey! I wanted to drive." Yes, my stubbornness was a ruse; one that was supposed to accomplish Aubrey giving me the keys to my car, obviously it didn't work.

"You can drive on the way back."

Obviously, if he can't drive the Aston Martin, then I won't be able to either. We'll both be stuck driving the Porsche; given it is a very smooth ride, just not as smooth as the other cars. And not as fast, speed is completely relative in the cars I own, the GT3 happens to the smallest amount of horsepower (still four hundred fifteen), which is why it's the only one I let Aubrey drive, I'm afraid he'll get in an accident if he takes one of the other vehicles out.

"Alright, fine. You're driving the Porsche."

It's my turn to sulk now, though I am positive that when I try to pout and look upset Aubrey only gets turned on. He says that I look adorable and 'totally shaggable' when I have that expression on my face, so obviously, I'm at the disadvantage here. I make sure to wipe the sulking look off before we get in the car; otherwise I know that I wouldn't escape a rampage of kisses that will completely undermine the amount of time I've already spent on my hair. I'm such a girl sometimes; luckily Aubrey likes me like that, so no complaints.

What I am not anticipating is that he'll ravage me with kisses anyway as soon as I scoot into the low-slinging car. Clearly he's planning to start tonight early on and we are going to be even later to that party than I had anticipated. After a few minutes, once I'm feeling decidedly light-headed from lack of air and I am practically swooning, I pull away, pushing Aubrey back into his seat.

"Babe," I sigh as he squeezes suggestively high up on my thigh and my jeans are considerably tighter than they had been when I put them on, "At least wait until we get to the party."

Aubrey grumbles unhappily, jerkily placing the key in ignition and starting the motor. Right about then an idea comes to my mind, a deliciously naughty idea that I make sure to share with my boyfriend in a sexy slur.

"Unless you want to take the Hummer."

"Oh, fuck yeah."

I knew he'd warm to the thought of a spacious backseat; that was the only reason I actually bought the SUV, because I prefer small, fast cars. Honestly, I'm pretty sure that the Hummer is Aubrey's favorite car. He's like one of Pavlov's dogs, but instead of a bell meaning food, the army vehicle means sex. Oh, his libido is certainly one of the other things I absolutely adore about him, for once I'm with someone who's sex drive overpowers even my own.

Aubrey's willingness to screw like rabid bunny rabbits all day long if the opportunity arises is strangely endearing; even if it keeps me immobile and sore for a few days afterwards, though I think I've already learned to ignore the aches, since they are pretty much constant. He scrambles like a little kid towards the Hummer, and I swear he's humming happily.

"Someday you are going to kill me, Aubrey," I mutter under my breath, but I follow him nonetheless; as much as I complain, the sex is great.

I just hope we're not too late to the party.

So, that's Aubrey and Jack (or Jackie). What do you think of them? I know that Jack's a bit of a spoiled brat, but I love him anyway. As I said, he just came up to me and told me to write him down. I had to do it, of course, because who am I to pass up inspiration? Anyway, any and all reviews (unless they're flames) will be greatly appreciated, while flames will be used to grill hotdogs and melt marshmallows. Also, I don't have a beta currently, so I may miss mistakes and have slight issues with tense, and yadda-blah, so if you notice anything that requires correction please let me know, I'll be very grateful. All right I'm off to continue writing Chapter Four of Well Smack My Ass and Call Me Sally. I'm signing out, if you read this far, thanks for reading! Love.