Date: Sat, 02 Aug 2003 04:28:10 +0000
From: Bobby Reardon <reardon_930@hotmail.com>
Subject: Road Rules: South Pacific 3

Road Rules: SP belongs to MTV and Bunim/Murray productions. The story is
mine, but Dave and Chris aren't. I know you're smart enough to not think
they're really lovers in real life, even if the thought gets you as crazy as
it gets me. But just as a disclaimer...I'm not implying they are, OK? Do not
read if you are not over 18. Use protection in real life.

This is a short chapter but is a stopgap chapter. The next chapter should be
interesting. I'd love your suggestions on that chapter, as I have a few
ideas of my own. I also would *please* like to know some details on gorgeous
Marc, the host, in case I want to involve him later on. Has he been with the
show before? Where is he from? I missed the first episode or two of this
season, so if I sound like an idiot for not knowing these answers, that's
why I don't know them.



The RV walls were closing in. Dave felt the claustrophia more than most.
Genial, sweet, kind -- what the fuck did he do to deserve casting the fatal
vote?

Cara or Donnell. Jokester, sensitive Donnell or shy, intriguing, gutsy Cara.
Both important in their own ways. And Dave had had to choose. He couldn't
get rid of Cara, no matter how much Chris and Cristena pitied Donnell.
Donnell lost them missions. Donnell could lose them the money. This was a
game, this wasn't just friendship. Everyone said that, so why was he the
only one who remembered it at the moment of truth?

After his vote, there was a long hashing-out before Cristena finally decided
to vote for Cara to stay. He saw the guilt in her eyes and knew their
relationship would never be quite the same. But Chris, Chris was what still
stung at him. After Chris had befriended him, even did...those things to
him, Chris wasn't there when Dave needed him the most. Chris refused to vote
against Donnell. Chris was with the girls now, soothing their wounds. Chris
didn't care about him at all now, if he ever did.

Fuck Chris.

Slight wishy-washiness aside, Dave was the nicest person in the camper, and
the girls couldn't stay mad at him for more than a day. Chris, on the other
hand, made no attempts to play buddies, to do more than have the most
primitive conversations. The two brooding men barely made eye contact with
each other and suddenly torrid memories teased and shocked them all over
again. To Cara/Mary Beth/Cristena, it was just a "stupid boy thing", and one
day, they walked out of their home on wheels in a unified protest.

"We aren't going to let you leave this RV until you kiss and make up!"

As Cara shut the heavy door behind her, Chris wondered if she suspected just
how truthful that statement could be.

Chris and Dave went to separate corners. Neither had anything to apologize
for, at least not from their point of view. They each felt they were the
injured party. And this simmering dislike was easier to deal with than
simmering lust.

A few moments later, a slight shift in the ground underneath them sent Dave
flying into Chris' arms.

"Deja vu," Chris whispered, huskily, faint hint of breakfast cereal on his
breath.

Dave could melt into those arms. Easily. Too easily.

"Fuck you! Get your filthy hands off me!"

Dave tried to push himself away, but Chris - bulkier, more determined, more
ferocious - held his wrist in a death grip.

"What's wrong with you, dude?"

Dave could feel Chris staring inside his every vulnerable pore. The heat was
rising in both men, soaking through their jeans and t-shirts. Dave spit the
words at him while he desperately worked to get his arm free and to avoid
those eyes...

"Donnell is what's wrong, DUDE!"

...that mouth...

"You act like he was your best friend. Maybe he was, huh? Maybe I was just
your little bitch?"

...that cleft in his chin...

"Get OFF of me!"

Not realizing what he was doing, Dave violently shoved Chris to the ground.
But before he could run out of the cramped space, Chris yanked on his left
ankle, hooking his prey and sending him crashing down beside him. Side by
side they laid, surging with raw energy.

"Hey, listen to me, Dave!"

Dave tried to sit up, pushed Chris away again. Chris jumped on top of him,
and they rolled across the floor, their armpits and foreheads drenched in
sweat, their bodies primed and aching for the physical contact. Dave
connected his hand with Chris' jeans bulge, but instead of hitting him, he
squeezed. Hard. And Chris was suddenly hard, or maybe he had been since the
fight started. So much like that night, but so different. Adrenaline and
wrestling skills made Chris the victor, and after much struggling and
pawing, Dave was on his flat belly, Chris straddling his backside.

"I'm gonna talk, Dave, and you're gonna fucking listen."

Dave grunted into the floor. He didn't want to hear.

"I can't articulate very well. I'm not into the high vocabulary shit. But I
know what integrity is. I told Donnell I wouldn't get rid of him, and I had
to stick to that promise. I thought you'd understand. We're both men.
Instead, you pout and sulk and take it personally. Maybe you can't live with
me now, but if I'd voted against him, I couldn't live with myself, just like
you couldn't live with yourself if you voted against Cara. Get it?"

Dave nodded.

"Now, about that night..."

Dave struggled again, writhing in the strong hold on his hair and waist. His
generous ass pushed against the ample crotch above him. Chris pushed back
down, and a silent, harsh rhythm was born.

"This is what that night was about, Dave. Feel it. If you think this makes
you a bitch, that's your deal, but don't put that on me."

His eyes fluttering, Chris began to push down hard on Dave's upturned,
denim-covered buns. He hadn't worn any underwear that day and could
practically feel his sloppy mushroom head sliding inside Dave's waiting
crack. Only a few layers separated them. Dave didn't fight him, nor did he
offer to help him. Chris took total control, reaching underneath Dave to
unbuckle his jeans and roughly stroke him. A stroke for a stroke. He never
wanted the feeling to end, being tormented by the closness to Dave's velvet
glove, but he knew the girls were waiting outside. Speeding up his thrusts,
he let out a hoarse cry as his seed spilled into his tight jeans and against
his exhausted waist and thighs. Dave came a few moments later. Chris put his
dirty, wet hand up to Dave's mouth, Dave not speaking as he lapped at his
own seed. Chris retracted his wet digits, licking away the last few
nutritious drops before he stood up.

Looking down on his lover, hopefully his friend, Chris held out his sopping
hand. Dave turned onto his back, fumbling with the fly on his jeans.
Staring, unsure, he took Chris' outstretched hand. Looked deep into those
smoky bedroom eyes.

A loud knock scattered their remaining thoughts. After finding a few Certs,
they quickly flung the door open. The girls were impatiently waiting, waving
a flyer in front of them. Dave and Chris read the notice in unison. A chill
ran up their spines. Below a photo of the two of them were the words:

Get naked. $5000. Surprise visitor.

What could that mean? And who could the visitor be?