Road Trip

Road Trip
by Tiriel
NC-17 for m/m/m sex
PWP

Disclaimer: The characters of this story don't belong to me...they came from the twisted minds of David Lynch and Mark Frost (and I mean that respectfully) -I'll put them back when I'm done. The character of "Jake" is the only one that's original. Please don't sue me, all I have are student loans...not beta'd, errors are entirely my fault, including errors in/minor liberties taken with geography...it's been a while since I drove that particular road. Twin Peaks/Pacific Northwest in-jokes abound, explanations of them at the end.

Set (for the most part) prior to the events of the Twin Peaks tv series and the film, "Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me" -all text is as narrated by Special Agent Dale Cooper to his handheld tape recorder.

There's been some question about why a character who only appeared briefly in the show, mostly as a corpse, is included. So, here's a note of explanation:
Rusty Tomaski is involved because this story was originally written for Joxerotica, a list devoted to fic featuring characters played by Ted Raimi. This was just before I made the decision to create the BookhouseBoys list. Basically, this is a completely selfish story--a chance for me to mentally drool over two of my favorite TP characters, and throw in a TP character that isn't on my drool list, but was played by an actor I have drooled over in other roles.


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Diane, as you know, I have, in the past, occasionally explored the sexual options offered by other men. In fact, remind me later to tell you the story of my first experience of that nature, and add a note to my calendar reminding me to call Fox when I get back. You don't know him, although he bears a striking reselmblance to Agent Bryson. Back to the topic at hand. I believe in the theory which states that all humans are, at least to some extent, bisexual. There are many well-documented examples of bisexual behavior in the animal world, and, where sex is concerned, man and animal are more similar than most of us would like to admit.

I owed Jake, from the motor pool at the Seattle office, a favor. That coffee shop he sent me to, Diane, there just aren't words to describe it, except to say that they make a damn fine cup of coffee in Seattle. So I offered to drive a car that was being transferred from Seattle to Spokane. The hum of tires on a long stretch of road is one of the sweeter sounds, and it would give me a chance to spend some time in quiet contemplation and see more of this part of the country. The Pacific Northwest is beautiful, Diane, I must make sure I come back here when I have more time. I hear that the Snoqualmie Falls here in Washington are beautiful, and that there's a great Shakespeare festival in Ashland, Oregon.

So when I turned in the last report from the case I wrapped up yesterday, I set out on the road, planning to drive through most of the night. Not that far into the pass, I saw a hitchhiker. Now I don't normally pick up hitchhikers, but it was raining, and the young man looked so dejected, that I decided to stop. He was about nineteen or twenty, with dark hair that looked like he was trying to grow it out, dressed in black jeans and a Metallica t-shirt. He didn't have a jacket or a backpack of any kind. I pulled over and waited for him to jog up to the car. I opened the door and he was inside before I finished speaking.

"Need a lift?"

"Sure," he said, "thanks."

"You're welcome. Nasty weather out there. You live close by?"

"I did," he said, "but I don't anymore. I'm on my way to Moses Lake to live with my uncle. You headed that far?"

"It's on my way. I'm Dale Cooper, by the way."

He shook my hand, and said, "Cool, kinda like that hijacker they never caught. I'm Rusty."

"Pleased to meet you."

I turned up the heater so he could dry off, and we drove silently for a few minutes. I could tell that he was studying me intently.

"You a musician, Rusty?"

"Yeah, man, how'd you know?"

"You have the hands of someone who's played a lot of guitar."

He studied me again, quietly, for a few minutes, then said, "Hey, Dale, you ever get the feeling when you meet someone that you're connected somehow? Like, um, destiny or something?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have."

"I get that feeling about you," he said, and put his hand on my leg.

"You don't have to do that, Rusty. I just offered you a ride, no strings attached." I was protesting, but I could feel my body reacting to his touch. Something about him made me want to seize the moment, live life to the fullest.

"I know, man, but I want to. And so do you," he said with a grin as his hand moved higher.

"Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die," I said, and began looking for a motel.

"Hey, I like that," he said, "especially the 'drink' part."

We had passed through the rainstorm, and the night was clear and starry. I was enjoying the feeling of Rusty's hand stroking my erection through my slacks, and seriously considering whether or not I could wait until we found a motel, when I saw the car. It was stopped by the side of the road, its hood up, and a man was pacing around it. I pulled over.

"Don't go anywhere," I said, and left Rusty in the car.

The man looked up as I approached, and perhaps it was because of my state of arousal, but I was immediately struck by the intensity of his eyes and the brightness of his smile.

"Can I help?"

"Afraid not. I could use a lift, though, to someplace with a phone." His voice was quiet, and his accent suggested some time spent in Texas.

"Sure, I'd be happy to. Is this electric?" I asked as I got a better look at the car.

"Yup, better for the environment. I'm testing it out--a prototype from one of my companies." He said it with the casual air of the rich, but with the pride of the self-made man.

"Dale Cooper," I said, and held out my hand. As with Rusty, I left my title out of my introduction. That night I wanted to be seen as just another man, Dale, not Special Agent Dale Cooper.

"John Justice Wheeler," he said as he firmly shook my hand, "call me Jack. Pleased to meet you, Dale. Middle name doesn't start with a 'B' does it?"

I smiled and walked back toward my car. "Do you know what the nearest town would be? I'm headed for Spokane."

"Well," he said, following, "we're already past Yakima, but there's a small town another twenty or so miles off that should have a phone."

"I'm getting ready to stop for the night. Does the place have a motel?"

The flicker of his eyes at the question was a pleasant surprise. "Yup, there's one of those, too."

"Good. Join the party," I said, and opened the car door. "Rusty, Jack. Jack, Rusty."

I drove. Rusty kept his hands on his lap and couldn't seem to decide which of us to stare at. I must admit that if I hadn't been keeping my eyes on the road, I would've had a hard time deciding whether to stare at Rusty or Jack. Both were striking, in their own way. Jack was classically handsome, with chiseled features and a strong-looking body. Rusty had a leaner form and was attractive in his own right, even though I couldn't help thinking he'd look even better with a haircut. While I drove and Rusty stared, Jack quietly sang a cowboy song to pass the time.

Soon we were at the town Jack had described. Little more than a wide spot in the road, it did indeed have a motel, and a convenience store with a pay phone in front. I parked in front of the motel.

"Thanks for the ride," Jack said. He got out of the car and walked toward the convenience store.

I went into the office to check in. When I got back to the car, Jack had returned, carrying a large paper bag. I led the way to the room, a smile creeping across my face as they both followed. I hadn't been sure Jack would come back, but I was glad he had.

I unlocked the door and they followed me inside. Jack put the bag on the table and pulled out a six-pack of beer. Rusty took a can and sat on the end of the bed.

Jack handed me a cup of coffee, and in response to my raised eyebrow said, "Your car smelled like a coffeehouse. I assume you take it black?"

I nodded, smiled, and took a long drink.

Jack opened a beer and held it up in a toast. "Carpe diem," he said, and our eyes met and held.

"Carpe diem," I said, surprised at the echo of my earlier thought.

"What was that about fish?" Rusty said.

I smiled and walked toward him. "Carpe diem. It means 'seize the day.'"

Rusty stood up. "It's not exactly daytime. How about 'seize the night?'"

"Seize the night," Jack echoed, raising his beer can.

I bumped my coffee cup against Rusty's can, and he leaned forward and kissed me. His lips were soft, and he tasted of beer. I found my hand tangled in the hair on the back of his neck as the kiss deepened.

When I came up for air, Jack was standing next to us. He put his hand on my lower back, and I turned to kiss him as Rusty moved his attention to removing my trenchcoat while kissing my neck.

"I should pick up hitchhikers and stranded motorists more often," I gasped between kisses.

"They say good deeds are rewarded," Jack said, and reached for my belt.

Rusty had tossed my trenchcoat aside, and went to work on my suitjacket. Jack undid my belt and pulled it slowly out of the loops. Both of them undid the buttons of my shirt, Jack starting at the bottom and Rusty at the top, and when they met in the middle they shared a kiss that made me breathless just to watch. Then they tossed my shirt aside and pulled my undershirt over my head, leaving me bare-chested while they were both still fully clothed. My hands were roaming their bodies, Jack on my left, Rusty on my right, exploring these two very different and very male forms.

I couldn't decide which of them to undress first. They took care of that decision for me. Jack reached around me and pulled off Rusty's t-shirt, and Rusty in turn removed Jack's coat and shirt. Jack went to work kissing the back of my neck, sending tingles down my spine, and Rusty knelt in front of me. He unbuttoned my slacks and pulled them and my underwear down to my ankles. Without further warning, he swallowed my erection deep into his throat. It took all my focus not to come just from that.

Jack's mouth left my neck, and from behind me I heard the sound of a zipper, then the sound of the paper bag rustling and then the sound of a condom packet opening. He'd gotten more than coffee and beer at the store.

Rusty paused, and pulled off my shoes and socks. I stepped out of my slacks while he removed his own jeans and shoes.

Jack was behind me again, his hands on my hips. I stepped forward and knelt on the bed. Jack stood behind me and I felt his slick fingers--one, then more, until I couldn't wait any longer.

"Please," I said.

He slowly, carefully, pushed his impossibly hard length into my body. I resisted the urge to push back more quickly, shuddering with enjoyment. I saw a drop of moisture fall from the head of my cock onto the bed.

Jack began to thrust, and while I could still focus, I held my hand out to Rusty and pulled him onto the bed underneath me. I took him into my mouth and he gasped and arched under me.

Soon, I was too close to the end to concentrate, so I lifted my head, adjusted my balance, and wrapped my hand around Rusty's smooth erection. None of us would last much longer, I knew.

Rusty reached up and put his arms around me, and that sudden reminder that I was there with two incredible men, with two sets of hot hands on the skin of my back, was all it took. My semen spurted down onto the bed, then Jack gave a last ragged thrust and I felt him lean heavily against me. He reached down and put his hand over mine. Together we gave Rusty's dick just a few more strokes and then our hands were wet with his hot ejaculate.

Jack gently pulled out of me, and I let myself collapse forward onto the bed next to Rusty. Jack joined us a moment later and we lay there, sweaty, limbs tangled together.

It was just a few minutes later when Rusty sat up. He said, "Ready to go again?" Then he laughed. His laugh was marvelous, loud and uninhibited.

"Ah, youth," Jack said, and laughed. And I laughed too--sated, sweaty, surrounded by joy--I laughed longer and harder than I had in a long time.

When our laughter subsided, Rusty spoke again. "You guys aren't *that* much older than me," his voice dropped to a growl, his hands wandered our bodies, "let's rock and roll."

Suffice it to say, Diane, that none of us got much sleep that night. We three travelers came together in as many different ways as our imaginations and our stamina allowed. I lost track of who was touching who, whose mouth or hands were on whose body, and it didn't matter.

I do remember pieces--Rusty's neck under my mouth, Jack's chest under my hand, more laughter. Last night, we three near-strangers focused all our beings on pleasure, setting all other concerns aside. It was a singular experience.

This morning, Jack went back to the convenience store and got donuts and coffee for all of us. We traveled, mostly in a companionable silence, and when we reached the exit for Moses Lake, I pulled the car over.

Rusty gave each of us a long kiss goodbye, smiled a beautiful smile that made his eyes sparkle, and said, "It's been fun, guys. See ya." Then he was gone.

Jack rode with me to Spokane. His phone call last night had summoned his private jet, and he's flying me back to DC even as I speak. He's a busy man, his life as a businessman and an activist takes him all over the world, so I doubt I'll ever see him again, but we do have a few more hours to kill. This is Special Agent Dale Cooper, in the skies above our great nation, signing off.



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Approximately five years later...



Diane, you may recall my account of a certain night about five years ago on which I picked up a hitchhiker and a stranded motorist. So much has happened since then--Laura Palmer's death, Earle's escape, and of course Caroline. I was a different person then, more free. I'd rather not tell you what's happened, but I need to, so back to the topic--the hitchhiker and the motorist. Something unusual has happened, although I really ought to be used to that by now. They're both here in Twin Peaks. The hitchhiker, I am saddened to report, is dead, the latest victim of Windom Earle. I almost didn't recognize him. He'd continued growing out his hair, but his eyes were the same.

First Earle kills a man who not only shared Caroline's last name, but also looked eerily like a cousin of mine, and now Rusty. I have to wonder how personal this will get. But the note Earle left said "Next time it will be someone you know," and he wouldn't miss a chance like that to taunt me, so I believe that it must be just a sad coincidence that his "pawn" was someone I once knew. I managed to maintain the illusion that Rusty was a stranger to me, in case Earle was watching somehow. I can't help but think--Earle was going to kill anyway, but perhaps if I'd counseled Rusty on the danger of accepting rides from strangers, offered him guidance instead of letting my hormones take over, he'd be alive today. I will have to live with that possibility.

The happier news is that the motorist is very much alive and completely enamored with Audrey Horne. Not that I blame him. If Annie hadn't come along, I might have given in to that temptation myself. I hope she and Jack make each other very happy. He and I pretended to be strangers, just as we agreed we would if we ever met again. All I have to say is that Audrey is a very lucky woman.

As for Rusty, I will probably be haunted by the memory of his laugh, his eyes, his neck, for some time to come. I take some comfort in the knowledge that the three of us shared one night of pure joy. That small happiness in his life can't outweigh the fact that he was killed a madman seeking revenge on me, but it's all I have.

I've done a lot of traveling in my work with the Bureau, Diane, but that was, without a doubt, the most enjoyable time I ever had on a road trip.



The End

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By popular demand, the explanation of the in-jokes.



Snoqualmie falls are the real-life version of the falls seen in many episodes of Twin Peaks. For another onscreen view of the falls, see also an early Northern Exposure episode in which they paid tribute to Twin Peaks, a tip of the hat to the fact that both shows filmed in more or less the same part of Washington State.

Kyle MacLachlan played Romeo at Ashland in the early 80s sometime--I forget the exact year. I wasn't fortunate enough to see it, but I have the following year's schedule --the cover photo is from that production. For those who've been, a photo of him is on the "wall of fame" (famous then or since individuals who've done plays in Ashland) in the museum there. Currently a member of the company in Ashland is Catherine E. Coulson, the Log Lady.

And, of course, David Duchovny, currently Fox Mulder of the X-Files, played the cross-dressing Agent Dennis/Denise Bryson on several episodes of Twin Peaks.

Dale Cooper is one of a few characters in Twin Peaks to share a name with a real-life infamous Pacific Northwest character. The so-called "D. B. Cooper" hijacked an airplane (in the late 70s, I think) and parachuted out of it. He was never found, dead or alive, although a small amount of the money was found on a riverbank a few years later. He is actually considered to be the first "skyjacker." (The other example that leaps to mind is the real-life Harry Truman--and, no, I don't mean the president. Harry Truman was the real-life man who refused to leave Mt. St. Helens when the evacuation order was given before the 1980 eruption. He went up with the mountain.)

Yakima, Washington, is the real-life birthplace of Kyle MacLachlan.

And the reference to Earle's first victim looking like a cousin of Coop's--well, the dead man (killed and posed while Earle had the power knocked out--left in the sheriff's office pointing to a chessboard, just to refresh the memories of the TP fans out there) is credited as Craig MacLachlan, cousin to Kyle.



Feeeeeeeeeed me

Tiriel

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