By Maquis Leader




Rating G

Author’s note: Inspired after Ralkana stumbled over NASCAR fanfic, which she shared with me and we giggled at. Now however… we think the love of man and car is a good thing.




It was cool in the corner. Darker and quiet. A good place to rest. Let the others go out and wear their tires down chasing evil. Or worse…


The new driver was back. With the bleached hair like old leather seats. He took the others out, and they came back scraped and dented. Wheezing oil and antifreeze like old Pintos. Some never came back at all. There were stories…


There was a moment when the new driver stopped and looked. He always did. Stopped and stared. Smirked and then walked away. The moment was long, and it was always too bad that the PTB wouldn’t let his engine start so the new driver could be ground under his tires.


Stare. Smirk. Walk away. Right on time. To the red Porsche who tried to ignore the key that was shoved into her. She failed and roared her frustration as the new driver forced her out of the garage.


The Mustang next to him creaked a spring in sympathy. She'd suffered a blown head gasket at the hands of the new driver, and it wasn’t looking good. The tow truck might be back…


The tow truck had brought him in, found him on the street, tires gone, seats slashed. Spirit as low as when the dark driver had found him in the graveyard. Lower because the dark driver had abandoned him to the creatures that lived on the streets.


Unlike the Mustang, there had been hope for him. The non drivers had spent the time to fix and polish and tune until he was almost factory fresh again.


There was a shiver of metal. Creak of springs and hiss of leather. The others all strained to look attractive and factory fresh.


The dark driver walked past them all. Stopped. Rested a hand on the door handle. Opened it and slid inside to where dark leather welcomed and caressed him comfortably.


“Why the hell do I put up with him?”


The key slid in slowly.


“I should just put a stake through his heart and get it over with.”


There was no way to let the dark driver know he agreed. The new driver’s dust on his hood would be welcome.


“At least he hasn’t gone to Buffy.”


The glove compartment opened and the picture that lived there was taken out. The picture of the girl driver. She had spent more time lying on the leather seats than driving, thankfully.  The dark driver had spent that time lying with her and making the seat springs creak with her moans.


“Not that she wants him.” The picture went back inside the glove compartment with a click.


“I’ve neglected you.” Cool hands ran over the steering wheel. “Truth to tell, I don’t feel worthy. You didn’t give up the good fight. You’re a champion’s car, and I’m no champion.”


A champion’s car. They had killed evil drivers. His grill and radiator had been sacrificed to a gate, and his paint chipped on the way to the green driver’s home. The dark driver was a champion.


“The rest of these – “ A motion that didn’t reflect in the side mirror. “They’re all painted whores. Cheap and quick entertainment.”


If the dark driver would turn the key, they could leave this garage. Go back to the other garage where it was home. Find the girl driver, but not let her drive.


The key was pulled out.


“I wish I could leave.”


The door opened and the leather sighed as the dark driver got up and out. The door clicked closed. A cool hand slid over the front fender.


“Maybe tomorrow.”


Silent as ever, the dark driver walked away. The others gave up on their attempts to look factory fresh and tempting.


It was cool in the corner. Darker and quiet. A good place to rest. Let the others go out and wear their tires down chasing evil. Or worse…


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