Rating: R for language and eventual m/m nookie

Category: Slash

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't know who does, I'm not making any money off of this though. Notes: Takes place after the Fast and the Furious, I watched the movie recently but didn't really catch that Brian was working for the LAPD and not the FBI (and I'm _still_ not sure about it). But since it's already become part of the story, and as I don't really plan to mention much more about it just consider this a bit of an AU. I never watched 2Fast 2Furious, so for me it doesn't exist. This is not a happy fic right now. This is me taking out my anger about exam grades. I want to hurt someone. This is where Brian comes in. *looks ashamed of self* He's pretty when he's hurting though *G*. One last thing: The story is unbeta'd and it shows I'm sure, I tried to catch what I could but stuff will always slip by. This is going to probably go on for awhile, if you like the story and would like to beta for me, catch errors, help me work my way out of my chronic writer's block then feel free to let me know! *G* ----------

Chapter Title: Back Alley Beating

Pairing: Dom/Bri (when um...Dom gets over the anger a bit...later...yeah)


The club was loud. Loud enough, and _good_ enough that it made Bri twitch with the need to get out on the floor and dance. Dance til he was sweaty and all his worries just drifted away.

And he did until his legs were shaky and his throat dry, then he wound his way through the crowd to the bar. He smiled back at the flirty looks some of the women gave him, friendly but not interested.

He was on a job, the first solo work he'd been allowed since he fucked up with the Toretto case. If he fucked this up he could forget ever making agent or that promotion that had been promised to him. He'd spend the rest of his short days with the agency playing lackey fetching coffee for his supervisor.

Not that he was sure he wanted the promotion, he could make the enough money as a mechanic to keep himself happy, and after the easy camaraderie he'd enjoyed in Dom's garage he thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd actually enjoy it more than what he was going through now. Fixing cars and racing them. He could probably live off that the rest of his life.

But for now he was going to stick to the FBI, see where it went. Prove himself. Because he _could_ do it, he wanted to do it. If nothing else he wanted to do it to prove that he was anything but a soft hearted idiot that would be taken in by any criminal with a sob story that came along. Dom was the exception not the rule.


Bri shook his head and drained the rest of the beer, signaling for another before turning to lean back against the bar, scanning the crowd. Trying to judge whether this was the sort of place the men he was after would frequent, if any of these people would know anything about the criminals. So far they hadn't.

Seven black Civics that robbed anything and everything under the cover of darkness. At first it sounded like the jobs Dom had pulled, especially since they'd robbed Mack trucks, but that wasn't the only thing they hit. They'd robbed stores, banks, armored cars, just about anything that was guaranteed to have money or goods that would sell on the black market. Hell they'd even stolen drug money in Florida.

That was another thing about it, they had no set area they worked, they'd been spotted in New York, Florida, California, even places as unlikely as Iowa.

The only thing known for sure about them, was that they drove their black Civics like demons from hell and the police couldn't touch them.

So Bri had been sent in to Houston, on a rumor, to try to work his way into the racing scene like he had in LA. Try to find out who the stunt drivers were and who the brain behind the whole scheme was.

He'd already been here a month and had heard zilch. And his supervisors were getting antsy with nothing solid to go on, they were about to pull him. Bri thought they should have a week ago, there was nothing here.

Finishing his second beer, he paid for it and fought his way to the door, the air outside cool after the stale heat inside the club. His truck was parked a few roads over and he was more than happy for the short walk, it gave him a chance to cool down.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar shadow and turned his head casually to look, pretending to check his watch. Nothing. False alarm. He stopped to tie his shoe and look harder though just in case. He could have sworn he'd seen familiar broad shoulders across the street.

But Dom couldn't be here. Could he?

With a sigh at his own jumpiness he straightened, turned back the way he was walking, and found himself nose to nose with one glaring pissed off Dom. He gasped and that was all he had a chance to do before Dom grabbed his shirt, dragging him bodily into the alley beside the club, slamming him hard into the wall.

"Hello Brian." Dom shook him hard enough that his head hit the rough brick and made spots dance in his vision.


Dom shook him again, "Shut up cop. I don't want to hear it."

He had dreamed of seeing Dom again, somehow he'd always imagined something less...rough. Sure he knew Dom would be pissed with him over his deceit and sure he'd been expecting to get shoved around a little but not...not the murderous rage he saw darkening those already dark eyes.

Dom pulled him away from the wall, slamming him back against it again, growling, "What are you doing here cop?"

Brian gasped for breath, trying to keep his vision from blurring any more than it already had, trying to formulate some kind of answer, head sluggish from hitting the wall too many times. Apparently that wasn't enough for Dom who pulled back his huge fist and let it fly, all the force in that powerful frame plowing into Brian's jaw. His head hit the wall again, much harder than before.

Dom released his hold on his shirt, and feeling like a puppet with its strings cut, Brian slid down the wall, blinking, dazed, memories of the beating Dom had went to jail for dancing through his head. He finally realized if he didn't start talking fast Dom was going to start kicking him and once that started Brian doubted he would stop until he was dead.

"Hang on! I'll talk just stop _hitting_ me!" He felt his jaw to see if it was broken, staring at the steel toed boots in front of him, head aching too badly to even consider leaning his head back to look at Dom's face. The boots twitched, looking for the world like they were itching to slam into his gut.

"Talk." Dom sounded reluctant to listen, but Bri thought he would give him a chance. Now he just had to figure out what to say that wouldn't get him killed.

"I'm here to try to fit into the racing scene like in LA-"He yelped when the heel of Dom's boot ground into the hand he was using to keep himself from sliding the rest of the way to the ground, he could feel the bones scrape together.

"Get to the point cop."

Brian blinked rapidly, "The bandits, the ones using the seven Civic setup, they've been knocking off places all across the country," His voice rose as Dom's boot ground harder, "There was a rumor they were here! I swear I'm here for them!"

Dom looked down at him, mouth set in a thin line, and then the boot lifted off his hand. Brian cradled it to his chest, clenching his teeth against a whimper, trying to think past the pain. Then he was being dragged to his feet. "Well you found em cop. Good job."

That was the last he heard before Dom's fist plowed into his jaw again. This time Brian lost his tenuous hold on consciousness.