I Feel A Bad Moon Rising

The mansion is nestled in the hills of California, buried deep in dense forestry; the headlights of Carroll's 1963 Cobra could barely penetrate the woods beyond the road. As he rounds the final corner on his ascent, the light of the mansion comes streaking through the oaks.

Lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

Carroll drives up the looped driveway. Cars have been parked on each side of the drive, but signs assure him there's some kind of valet service so he doesn't have to navigate the grounds himself. Driving up to the house, he sees a young man in a vest rise from his stool by the door, and he puts on a smile that says 'I'd rather be anywhere but here' .

Carroll stops the car. Getting out, he tosses the key to the valet boy, and in return he's handed a leather keyring with a number stamped in gold on the front (a matching keyring is looped onto his car key before the valet gets in and drives the car away).

The mansion is crowded. Bodies spill out of every doorway, grasping drinks loosely in their hands, huddled together in small groups. They move, swaying to a song Carroll either hasn't heard before, or just can't make out from here. A set of stairs trail up the side of the house, and couples mingle on every step, granting themselves lucky for the second-rate view of L.A. spilled across the valley below.

It's a squeeze to make it through the front door. He shuffles between two groups of party-goers (gently placing a hand on the shoulder of one, softly saying “Excuse me," as he passes behind them), and he feels a hand grab his ass and squeeze, making him jump and give a little yelp.

“Hiya Shel," a voice as smooth as velvet purrs in his ear, the very sound of which calms Carroll's nerves immediately.

“Destiny, evenin'," he responds, turning to face her. She's turned her back on her little posse of equally beautiful women, but they're all eying him like he's something to eat.

“Didn't think I'd be seeing you here tonight, baby," Destiny snakes an arm around Carroll's neck, pulling herself up against him. Her thigh finds its way between his legs, “Thought you might have gone soft on us."

Glancing down at the point where Destiny's body was softly grinding against his own, Carroll quirked an eyebrow, “Evidentially, that's not an issue," he tells her, a sly smirk tweaking his lips, “I'm actually looking for someone; a man by the name of Archibald Douglas. Do you know him?"

One of Destiny's friends drapes herself over the other girl's shoulders, her hand rests against Carroll's cheek. “Archie's been here for hours ," she sighs, “Last I saw, he was getting pulled into one of the bedrooms upstairs by some blonde bombshell."

Carroll sighs. “Great, thanks, uhhh-"

“Clandestine."

“Thanks, Clandestine," Carroll's hands hold Destiny's waist as he pulls himself out of her arms, “Now, I'm sorry to cut our reunion short, but I've got a man to find," and he slips further into the mansion.

The whole place smells of alcohol and disinfectant. If he had arrived earlier, Carroll was sure it would have only smelt like one of those things, but he'd lost track of time down at the shop, and found himself racing to get to the only social engagement Archibald was guaranteed to attend.

In the center of the mansion, the staircase snakes its way through a circular opening to the second floor. People sit on the carpeted stairs, watching the rest of the party going on through the glass railing. Carroll side-steps around them.

The second floor is flanked with closed doors circling around the main staircase. Muffled conversation is barely audible above the music coming from downstairs. He picks a door to his right, and starts checking them one by one. Instead of Archibald Douglas, he finds rooms full of models doing lines off each other's bellies, and people stripping clothes off each other's perfect bodies. Inside one of the rooms was a projection of a collection of naked bodies on the wall, and it looked like there was a group of people doing their best to replicate the film.

The fifth and final room he checks isn't quite empty. He can hear a shower running in the adjoining room, and spread across the circular bed lays the Blonde Bombshell.

Carroll's jaw drops to the floor as he takes in the state of the room. One of the lamps on the bedside tables has been knocked on its side. A condom wrapper, bright and gold, lays discarded on the floor. A still open bottle of lube dribbles onto the nightstand, and there in the middle of it all is;

“Leo Beebe." Carroll's jaw is fully on the floor now, and he scrambles to pick it up, “I should'a known I'd find you here." He thought Beebe might be capable of something like this, but he didn't think he had the guts to go through with it. Carroll closes the door behind himself as he steps into the room.

“It doesn't surprise me that we're after the same thing here," Leo's eyes are dark, his movements fluid as he lifts himself from the bed, “What is surprising is that you didn't manage to make it here first." Leo steps into his discarded pants, jumping slightly as he pulls them up, leaving them undone while he fishes around for his shirt. “It doesn't take an idiot to know why you've been falling behind ever since you left Ford, Shelby."

“Falling behind?" Carroll echoes with a laugh, “Leo, Miles has been out-pacing your boys since the start of the season."

“Maybe," Leo shrugs into his shirt now that he's found it, fingers working on the buttons up the front of it, “But tell me, how's that wallet of yours going this season?" He asks, expecting no response, and he gets none. All he's awarded it a glowering stare, which in itself is answer enough.

“That's what I thought," Leo smiles and Carroll tastes bile in the back of his throat. “I know… Archibald's money would have been a nice little life-boat for you," Leo wanders over to Shelby, and claps a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with eyes that didn't think this was an unfortunate situation at all, “Unfortunately, he just doesn't think going to bed with Miles-Shelby is worth the risk."

Carroll knows he's being ushered out of the room, and he lets it happen. “I'm guessing he didn't take that much convincing." There was no use waiting for Archibald to finish his shower; Leo's already taken the offer off the table for him.

“Hm," Leo hums, shrugging his shoulders, “I've done worse. He's surprisingly spry for his age."

Once they're out of the bedroom - Leo opens the door for them, because he's somewhat of a gentleman underneath it all - Carroll's eyes shift around, uncertain about what to do next. With Archibald off the table, the list of possible mid-season sponsors was abysmally short. And he didn't exactly want to head back to face Ken's rage.

“Come on," Leo says, closing the door to the bedroom behind them (it's not like the recipient of his deal-sealing romp was going to expect him to stick around), “Let me get you a drink, as a sign of good-faith."

They head back downstairs. Carroll spots Destiny, Clandestine and the other girls - whose names he didn't get on the way in, and he made a mental note to track them down when Leo was done with him to apologise and introduce himself to them properly - and he tilts his head in their direction, which they return by raising their glasses to him before they shuffle into a private room.

The bar hugs the wall of the main sitting room. The sunken lounge is brimming with conversation, and nobody even looks twice as the two men walk in. Men and women in various states of undress dance across the bar, the woman tending it having to serve drinks between spread legs.

As they approach the bar, she smiles and asks Carroll, “What can I get ya, handsome?"

Leo's hand pushes Carroll back, just slightly, and the bartender's smile dulls as he orders “A scotch on the rocks, and a beer, please sweetheart."

Leo takes both their drinks, and gestures towards a balcony outside that doesn't look too crowded. Nobody was paying attention to them. Nobody saw Leo's hand slip into his pocket and drop the pill into the bottle. He passes the beer into Shelby's free hand as they reach the railing. The city twinkles invitingly in the distance, and the music is quieter here. They're off at the side of the house, near all the maintenance closets and staff access corridors, far away from all of the music and the dancing.

“You know it's nothing personal, right Shelby?" Leo breaks the quiet apart, and takes a sip of his drink. “Hell, it wasn't even my idea."

Carroll's eyes stay fixed on the city far below them as he considers this, and takes a drink from his bottle. “Did Harold put you up to it?"

Leo's head bobs inconclusively, “He knows I have certain talents that I don't mind exercising."

“Is he paying you?"

“Oh yeah," The words come out all breathy. It still blows him away when he thinks about what kind of bonus this was going to get him. He leans a little closer to Shelby, “Don't tell Harold, but I would have done it for free."

Not for the first time that night, Carroll felt a hand on his ass. It's not a squeezing intrusion meant to grab his attention, but more of a wandering thing. Confident, but not fully committed yet. He tries to wash away the feeling by taking another swig from his beer.

“Good to know some of us are still willing to degrade ourselves to get what we want," Carroll muttered, trying to encourage that hand on his ass to move without drawing attention to it, and failing.

He was starting to feel strange. Not drunk, really, but not the buzz he was expecting, either. Instead, a queer and floating feeling of contentment was warming him. It was a very physical sensation -- the mounting desire to just be still and calm. He probably should have eaten something before coming here.

“Sorry, Leo. My head's just… I think I've had too much to drink."

Whatever logic check his brain would usually make in this situation failed. He didn't have the capacity to realise that half a beer shouldn't make him feel so… floaty.

“Come on," Leo says, taking Carroll by the arm, “Let's find you a place to sit." He hadn't expected the drugs to take effect so quickly. He was worried, for a second, that they wouldn't reach a private spot before Shelby's legs completely let out, but he was able to push them into some maintenance closet before that happened. Leo didn't really mind where Carroll lost himself; he was willing to compromise on where he drilled into Shelby's soft flesh.

Once they clambered inside of the little room, Leo's hand searched the wall by the door for a lightswitch. A little sound of triumph leaves him as he finds and flips it. There's a beat up little couch in here, and Shelby's body collapses into it, his face in the cushions. With a little convincing, Leo flips him onto his back.

He wants to make him watch.

“The stress must be getting to you," Leo purrs, draping himself across the couch, so he could drink in the tall glass of water that was slowly coming undone before him, “You and Miles don't really take time off, do you? Between racing and testing, how often do you get to wind down ?" Leo moves his hand from his lap to Shelby's thigh, where he traced little circles that edged further upwards with each loop.

Carroll's head tilts backwards, a hum vibrating in his exposed throat. “It's not so bad," he says slowly, “Part of the reason we're constantly kicking your ass on the tracks is that we…" His brain tells him something about the location of Leo's hand on his body was wrong .

Carroll lifts his head again, staring down at what Leo was doing.

“... don't stop."

Okay, out of context, that seemed bad , but Leo was a smart man. He knew that he couldn't… he shouldn't. Huh. Carroll can't figure out what it was he didn't want Leo to do.

“Yeah, you guys are better than Ford," Leo agrees, dark eyes watching the uneven rise and fall of Shelby's chest. He looks about ready to burst out of that tight little shirt he's wearing. Honestly, he doesn't know how Miles manages to keep his hands off of him. That's what makes this feel so satisfying.

He got to Carroll Shelby first .

He moves his hand to cup Shelby's groin. His pleasure wasn't really the point of all of this, but it would be easier on both of them if Shelby didn't start blubbering in the middle of it. “We've known all along that we didn't have what it took to beat you." Leo's free hand plays in Shelby's hair, “Not when you walked away with the best driver Ford has ever had, and two of the brightest minds in GT innovation that the world has seen thus far."

Carroll watches Leo's hand for a moment, before it all becomes too much, and he lets his head loll back against the couch again, and closes his eyes. “That feels nice," he hears himself say, and for reasons he can't figure out, it feels wrong . But how could it be wrong. Here, behind his eyes, he could tell it wasn't really Leo Beebe here with him, touching him. No, it was Ken. Because Ken always wanted him. Carroll could tell by the way he looked at him, or the lingering touch as they shared a cool beer at the end of a hot day. It was Ken's wonderful hands working his length. Ken who was fiddling with the button and fly of his jeans. Ken, who for some reason smelled like Leo, who was making him feel so good .

“That also feels nice." Carroll murmured as he was freed from his pants, the hand returning to pump his member. 

Leo's patience is wearing thin. Shelby looked even better than he could have imagined, hanging out of his jeans like that. Keeping a hand on Shelby's equipment, Leo pulls Shelby's pants down, and gets to work on his own, his cock straining uncomfortably against his slacks. Leo tugs his slacks, and his underwear, down to his knees. His thick cock sprung up, already oozing foul liquid from the tip.

Carroll's head lolls forward, his heavy eyelids opening barely enough for him to see, “You're not… mphf."

Leo's lips smashed against Shelby's, if only to squash any sounds of complaint that Shelby might try to make. He used both his hands to push Shelby's legs up past his head, and pulled back to take in the view.

Shelby's ass was perfect . You could tell just by looking at it as he strutted his tight little self around the racetrack, but seeing it like this was something else. With his knees by his ears, Shelby was completely opened up for him, his still-hard cock resting against his belly.

To Leo's happy surprise, the shout Shelby tried came out as a whimper.

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say no because this was Leo, not Ken, and he didn't want to have sex with Leo. He didn't want to have sex with anyone right now. None of his thoughts were all that clear, all swirling and circling around a central disgust for the man above him. Nothing personal . That's what Leo had said.

This felt pretty fucking personal.

He could feel warm hands moving him around, tugging him and sliding him into the right place, but he couldn't do anything about it. 

Leo grabbed Shelby's ass, and spread his cheeks, his little hole just opening for him. He tore open a pack of single-use lube and lathered it over Shelby's little rosebud of an asshole. He worked some of it just inside of him with his pinky finger, and when Shelby's muscles clenched, Leo groaned softly. So Ken really hasn't been here? He smirked. This was a treat that he didn't want to rush, but the tightening in his balls told him that if he didn't, his chance would pass him by. He dipped into his pocket once more, and produced a condom, and slid it over his shaft, finally ready to press himself into Shelby's perfect ass.

Leo had thought he knew bliss. He thought he had found it in winning the Le Mans, in tactfully giving Harold a beautiful press shot, while simultaneously snatching the win out of Miles' hands. But it was really this all along. Sure, Shelby might have gone limp, and could only grasp feebly at his arms as Leo slams his hips against him, picking up a frantic rhythm quicker than he had expected. For every push he gave, he pulled himself out almost entirely before driving his prick back into Shelby. His fingers dug into Shelby's hips, pulling him into each stroke.

The rhythm that Leo had worked up was starting to break, as his ragged breaths broke into grunted moans. As his cock twitched inside of Shelby, Leo pushed his hips right into him, burying himself as deep as he would go. He held himself like that, against Shelby, until his dick went limp, and slid out of him. He slapped Shelby's ass, and hastily pulled his trousers back up, though Leo left him to figure out the fly and button. After cleaning himself up, and slipping the tied-off, used condom into his pocket, Leo opened the door, switched off the light, and went off to rejoin the celebrations.