"Twific Auto Erotica Challenge"

Penname(s): Chele681

One-shot title: Emmett and the Pacer

Primary characters/vehicle(s): Emmett / Alice / Jeep / Pacer

Disclaimer:Everything Twilight belongs to SM. I don't even have a Pacer.


It was an otherwise unassuming Tuesday afternoon when Bella called to tell me mom was gone. I was walking out of my final presentation to Newton Corporation, on a high from finally closing this consultation project I'd been on for over a year, and her words sent my emotions into a freefall. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. My dad was ten years older than mom, and we'd always expected he would go first, decades from now. The doctor told us that strokes were unpredictable and hers had occurred suddenly, as if that made any of this more bearable and reasonable.

I was in Nashville, tying up loose ends, and figured it would take me two days to drive down to Delray Beach, where they lived in Florida. I considered flying, but since I'd be staying with Dad for a while, I needed to bring not only the essentials, but also anything I didn't even know I might need. Not only was the project done, but so was my relationship with Lauren. I just wanted to cut all ties with the place.

The solace of the road was appealing. I was in no hurry to get there any sooner than I had to and the funeral was set for Saturday. My mother was dead, my dad was recovering from knee surgery coupled by an incomprehensible level of loss, and my sister was a train wreck.


Bella said that Dad's recovery was slow going, and he still needed a lot of help while he was getting back on his feet. I was entirely unprepared to have to take responsibility for caring for him, but there was nothing I wouldn't do for my father. Bella had moved with our parents down to Florida when Charlie retired from the Police Department in Forks. Knowing she was there had allowed me to live my life over the last five or so years without really considering the details of how my parents aging may have affected theirs. The funeral had been planned without my help. I assumed Bella had handled it, and I wondered what else she'd had to handle. I knew I couldn't leave her on her own to deal with this, however, so I packed up the Jeep to head down there without a second thought. I don't think there was any way I could have prepared myself for the wreck I'd be walking in on.

I loved my Jeep; it had always meant freedom to me, but my attachment to this car didn't surprise me. My dad had been driving his car for thirty years. Apparently the Swan men do not easily let go of the things we really love.

Losing mom was going to leave us well and truly fucked.

My iPod had mysteriously packed itself in one of the bags nested in the back of the Jeep, and so I was making due with local radio. I vetoed the more somber country music stations whose songs were hitting a little too close to home, and settled on some mindless pop. I sang to avoid road hypnosis, but I felt ridiculous belting out the mindless lyrics even in my solitude. Inevitably, my mind began to wander. I diverted myself from thoughts of consequence, to thoughts of Lauren.

I certainly wasn't disappointed when Lauren hadn't volunteered to come with me to Florida. Truthfully, I was more surprised when she had moved with me to Tennessee. We'd been trying hard to make things work at the time; I'd even gotten her implants last year for her 27th birthday. I still felt like kind of a dick for giving her that sort of present, but she said it was all she wanted and at the time I was still willing to try anything to make her happy, but I didn't realize until too late that my agreement to the gift only re-enforced her body image issues. Lauren's tits looked good, perfect in fact, but I never really felt comfortable touching them. Hidden in the back of my mind was the fear that I would pop one, and so I just admired them instead. I accepted the "boob-block" for being the kind of asshole who bought his girlfriend the cosmetic surgery she wanted, instead of the therapy she actually needed. I should have known before then that things were not working.

We'd been more like drinking buddies for years, and our emotional connection was non-existent. Even our physical relationship was deteriorated, but old habits die-hard. We'd been fucking out of habit for a while now. I felt like I should be depressed or offended that I'd essentially been dumped on the same day my mother died, but in fact I was more relieved than anything.

I passed the exit for Disney World and thought of all the happy families on vacation there. My mind wandered to the summer before 6th grade when we'd taken a trip to see the Grand Canyon. We'd been trapped in the car for what had felt like years. Mom wanted to stop at every kitschy souvenir stand between Washington and Arizona. When we crossed the Arizona border Bella and I started asking "Are we there yet." Dad abruptly pulled the car over on the side of the highway. We were in the middle of the desert and he snapped, "Yes, we're here. Get out." We never asked again. Dad was effective that way.

Before long I was passing signs-which welcomed me to Delray Beach-and pulled into the retirement village where my parent's condo was. There were palm trees and manicured lawns as far as the eye could see. I easily spotted Dad's shiny burgundy Pacer among the plethora of Lincolns and Cadillacs and I pulled in the open space beside it.

I smirked.

I couldn't believe Charlie still had that fucking car. He had it my entire life, and took care of it like it was his first born. I'd been subjected to justifications of its unorthodox design from the time I was old enough to help him change the oil. He'd made me read the manual before I could touch any piece of the engine. I chuckled, recalling the glossy cover and its catchy advertising slogan: "Small was never this wide." Bella warned me that I might have to drive it while I'm here to keep the battery alive and then had mumbled something about not being able to keep the Jeep because of some condo regulations or some such bullshit. I bit my tongue and told her we would handle it when I got down there.

I hadn't realized how loud the music was when I was on the road, but it seemed to echo in the carport and several silver coiffed heads turned my way. I hit the dial immediately to turn it down and called out my apologies. I was off to a great start with the neighbors.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm myself I mentally prepared for what was to come. Mom had only been gone a couple of days. Bella had taken care of most of the arrangements, but she had warned me that dad wasn't doing well.

I walked up the sidewalk in the blistering heat squinting at the numbers near the doors and trying to remember which one belonged to my parents – they all looked the same. I was moving toward the next building when I heard Charlie's urgent voice, "Get back here, thief!"

"It's what Renee wanted!" came a shrill reply.

At the sound of my father's distress, I ran toward his voice, then stopped short when I rounded the corner. I took in the sight before me. There was a tiny woman walking down the short sidewalk from my parent's apartment, clutching an elaborately sequined bag to her chest. I suppose she was technically running, but the movements were more of a shuffle and entirely without speed.

Dad was following behind her, but with difficulty, still recovering from his knee replacement. The resulting slow speed chase would have been comical if it weren't so horrifying.

"Emmett! Stop her! She's taking your mother's things!"

"I've got it Dad," I called over to him. "Please go inside and get off your knee."

I turned to the perpetrator, who had to be at least 80 years old, and said, "Excuse me, ma'am. Please give me the bag. I'm not sure what's going on, but I don't want to have to call the police."

"I am the police!" I heard Charlie call from inside.

At that moment someone moved into my periphery, and her graceful movements were a stark contrast to the scene I'd stumbled upon moments before. This girl was young, maybe twenty-five, and looked like an angel out of Botticelli. I said a prayer that she would save me from this craziness. She strode up to the woman in front of me and said, "Maggie, what's going on here? You told me you were going to your bridge club. Why were you over at Charlie and Renee's?"

She reached out to put a hand on the bag, but the tiny woman, clutched it to her chest like a life preserver. The bag began to vibrate with a dull hum, the sequins shimmered and cast dancing reflections of the sun across the sidewalk. Maggie's mask of righteous indignation slipped and she looked…. guilty?

She faltered and her grip on the bag loosened enough for the girl to free it from her arms and look inside. I saw her eyes widen, and she reached her hand inside. The buzzing noise stopped abruptly.

"Hi, I'm not sure what's going on here, but Charlie says she's stolen from him. Can you please just give me his phone, or whatever she's got in there? "

"Ummmmm, no. Really, it's just that… uuuh, no no no….. " She trailed off humming and sputtering something I couldn't make out.

It was a shame that I couldn't understand what she was saying, because she wasn't bad to look at. However I hadn't nearly enough sleep to be dealing with this level of fuckery, and we were beginning to draw an audience. Looking around I saw at least six faces pressed against the windows of the adjoining apartments watching our display.

I reached out for the bag. She let out a resigned sigh and handed it to me.

I stuck my hand in before I looked. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was looking. I brought my fists to my eyes, dropping the bag to the floor as I tried to blot out the image of the remarkable assortment of sex toys. My mind rebelled against the knowledge that Maggie had taken this from my parent's house.

"You know what. I'm just going to pretend I never saw this," I muttered while I picked up the bag and placed it back in her hands.

I didn't know how I'd ever forget this tiny woman's death grip on a bag of dildos.

Without another word I turned and fled the scene. After calming Charlie and ensuring him that he must have misunderstood the woman's intentions, without explicitly stating the contents of that bag, I helped him get settled back in his recliner while we waited for Bella. We had some shit to talk about.

The next morning dawned on my newly fucked up life. It was Friday, and Renee would be buried tomorrow. I'm not sure what was in store for today, but as the sun crept higher, the temperature went with it and my ass started to stick to the air mattress, which had deflated steadily as the night wore on. I hadn't bothered with a sheet on the plastic, and it must have been 90 degrees under the top sheet I'd used to shelter myself from reality. I'd be getting a real bed for the guestroom today.

And a fucking fan.

I helped Charlie take care of his morning business and got him set up in front of the TV. We had said only a few words since my arrival. Considering the turmoil of yesterday, and Charlie's propensity for silence, I didn't pay it much mind.

I made breakfast, did the dishes and tightened a few loose hinges on the kitchen cabinets, and anything else I could find with the microscopic eyeglass screwdriver I found in the junk drawer. Despite my efforts to keep myself busy and distracted from the grief that seemed to hover around every corner, I eventually ran out of things to do and I could feel the pressure of reality starting to close in.

I expected her to come around the corner with a batch of fresh carob chip cookies, touting the benefits of molasses as a superior sweetener. She'd begun experimenting with alternate cooking ingredients one year when dad's annual physical has revealed elevated cholesterol. I was young enough at the time that I didn't know the difference, and dad had been married long enough to pretend he liked it better in order to make her happy.

"You could get the mail," Charlie offered. He always had a sense for impending doom, and was giving me an out from this apartment which smelled so much like my mother, like vanilla and brown sugar.

Selfishly, I tried not to think about how hard this must be for my father. Finding me crying in the foyer was not going to help him, even if it seemed like it might bring me some relief.

There was a small building in the center of the courtyard which housed the laundry facilities and mailboxes. I waited on the front porch until the coast was clear, hoping to avoid running into Maggie and her magic bag of tricks. The place looked deserted, though, so I strolled over to the room. It smelled heavily of powdered detergent. Above the row of mailboxes was a bulletin board that advertised the upcoming "Line Dance" class schedule. As a Risk Manager, I cringed at the potential liability. The possibility of broken hips seemed extraordinarily high.

There must have been several days' worth of mail crammed in my parent's mailbox. I set the stack down on the table to sort out the junk mail, catalogs, credit card offers instead of dragging it all back to the house. I didn't know what the fuck a Hairagami was, but I was fairly certain Charlie didn't need one. About the time I'd weeded out the utility bills, and what must have been the beginning of an avalanche of condolence cards, I turned to go back to the house and nearly ran over the girl from the sidewalk yesterday.

She was wearing a little white sundress, which barely concealed her curves. Her short black hair fell in curls around her face. When I realized I was staring I looked away quickly before I got caught.

I tried to think of something to say that would get me out of what promised to be a very uncomfortable situation, but she got there faster.

"I'm so sorry about your mother. As for yesterday – you know, with Maggie? I'm sorry about that, too. I was on an errand, and I had no idea she was going to try to go over there again."

"Yeah… thanks, and, well, I really don't know what else to say. Your mom must be … having some problems, but I didn't judge."

"Oh, Maggie isn't my mom. I'm her caretaker, and well… those weren't hers."

"Were they yours?" I asked playfully.

I cringed, because surely this joke was going to go awry, but she surprised me when she fired back, "No, They were your mom's."

Seriously? Is this chick pulling a "yo momma" joke on me?

I almost laughed, but it was abundantly clear that she wasn't joking and when I realized it, the look on my face must have shown my shock.

"Are you okay? You look a little pale," she observed in concern. "I thought maybe if my delivery was right, this would just roll right off your back. Maggie and Renee had an agreement that if anything ever happened, they'd take care of all their, um, personal stuff so that their kids didn't have to. Guess that plan's a bust, but she meant well. It's pretty common around here." Her words were an endless stream. "Contingency plans among close friends. You know? Maggie really loved your mom." She finally seemed to notice her own rambling and stopped to take a deep breath. "Shit, now I've really botched this. Let me start over. Hi, Emmett! I'm Alice."

I assumed, since she obviously knew my parents, she had deduced who I was long ago. I was surprised at my reaction to the way she said my name. She offered her hand and I shook it out of some sense of propriety, although I thought we were beyond formalities, considering our experience at yesterday's freak show. Her grip was strong but her hands were soft. I noticed her touch had somehow soothed my nerves.

She cocked her head to the side and said, "You look like you could use some water."

"I think I need a fucking life preserver."

"Settle for a cup of coffee?" There was tenderness in her eyes that promised to give me anything I needed.

"Yeah, coffee would be great."

On our way to the community center, people who wanted to offer me their condolences waylaid us on several occasions. Pats on the cheek and shaky handshakes were offered and by the time we made it to the diner, I smelled of cheap aftershave and muscle rub. The wall of cordiality I had built to keep up the appearance of control was starting to crack. When we walked in the door to the diner, all eyes turned to us. If one more person spoke to me about my mother I was going to lose my shit. Alice seemed to sense this, and ordered our coffee to go. I paid and we walked outside, heading back to the apartment. She navigated an alternate route, which allowed us to avoid having interaction with people, and kept me distracted by telling me about herself.

I was pleasantly surprised at her unassuming demeanor. She seemed optimistic without being overly up-beat and intelligent without affectation. Being with Alice was easy, and if there was anything I needed right now, it was something easy.

When we got back to the courtyard of my parent's condo I felt panic welling inside of me at the prospect of going inside. I turned to Alice and said, "Is there somewhere else we can go? I'm just not ready to deal with reality."

She looked a little excited, and I noticed a faint blush when she answered, "There's the drive-in. It's vintage night and Quills is playing. How do you feel about period-dramas?"

The only period drama I was familiar with was Lauren and her monthly PMS, but I didn't think Alice would appreciate that little joke, so I silenced my inner adolescent and said, "Sure, just give me a minute to see if Charlie needs anything."

She winked at me before telling me she needed to check on Maggie as well before we left.

I popped into the house and saw dad in his chair. The house smelled like lasagna and I took a few deep breaths to try to ease the tightness in my chest brought on by what smelled like mom's cooking. Each inhalation only seemed to make it worse.

"Bells came by while you were out and made dinner. She put some leftovers in the fridge for you. You might want to take my car, it's going to rain."

I gaped at him for a minute, wondering how he knew my plans and read my mind again.

"You can hear everything that happens on that sidewalk when the windows are open. Have fun at the movies. Alice might be just the thing."

I made a mental note to include outside conversations on my monitoring list, in addition to my inside conversations. If my dad knew, it was fair to assume that every gossip in the complex knew my plans for the evening. I was supposed to be here helping him, and he was already taking care of me.

I felt compelled to acknowledge him and walked beside him. I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed, probably a little too hard. He reached up and put his hand on mine his grip tightening in the same way. I swallowed hard, trying desperately to clear the lump in my throat. I had never questioned my father's silent strength, I'd simply come to depend on it. I felt his grip release and he patted my hand firmly before pointing to the door." Go. The keys are on the rack."

I wanted to say something to offer him comfort. I tried to thank him, but I was choking on my emotions and desperate to escape. I grabbed the keys, and an umbrella, and walked next door to meet Alice just as the skies opened up.

Not surprisingly, the drive-in was deserted, and we were the only car braving the pouring rain. I'm sure the theater workers were irritated at having to even run it for us, but I suppose they were in the building nice and dry and didn't really care if we were out there or not.

Turns out that 'period-drama' was code for two hours of watching people screwing in various stages of historical costume undress. Five minutes into the movie, I felt Alice's hand in my lap, and by the time the priest started fucking the maid on an altar in a church, we were making out like teenagers. This level of intensity was exhilarating and soon all other thoughts disappeared except the feel of this beautiful girl under my hands.

Her breath was hot. She whispered "I need you closer" against my neck.

She slipped into the backseat effortlessly, climbing through the tiny space between the Pacer's front bucket seats. She tugged on my shirt and directed me to follow. I didn't have as much luck squeezing my ass through and needed to tilt the passenger seat forward so I could maneuver my large frame back there. I was ungraceful, and practically fell into the back. After getting myself situated I noticed Alice was barely containing her laugher. I raised my eyebrows in challenge, and she exploded in a fit of giggles. I figured the moment was lost and leaned my head back against the seat.

"You think this is funny? You're amused by this fine automobile?"

Her laughter sounded both right and wrong. It was a light and soothing, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear at the moment. I wanted her soft moans against my neck and her hand back in my lap. I didn't want amusement, I wanted admission.

I focused on her lips, which were curled with laughter, but when I looked into her eyes, I saw lust. The freedom in her expression was astounding to me, and I wanted to know what it was like to feel that free. She reached out tentatively as if I might reject her, which I honestly considered doing.

I went into risk management mode, and did a mental cost-benefit analysis. I had two options, one long-term the other short-term, very short term. First, if I laughed along with her, the moment would pass and no damage would be done. It would certainly make getting the mail easier tomorrow. However, I would still be stuck with the problem in my pants and tightness in my chest. In addition to the lust, it had equal parts sadness, fear and now, a bit of humiliation for my clumsy entrance into the back seat. I was willing to risk some potential mailroom awkwardness if I could find some relief presently.

Short term it is.

I reached out and pulled her to me, anxious to get back the intensity we'd had in the front. I didn't allow our kisses a slow build. When our lips met I fused myself to her, one hand in her hair, the other reaching around her back to obtain the leverage to pull her to me and complete our circuit. I tugged gently at her hair to access her neck and sucked my way from her collarbone to her ear. I was rewarded with her moans and something deep inside me relaxed at the sound.

I can do this.

I would make her feel good, and make myself feel better in the process.

Leaning over her, I slid her body down onto the seat until she was underneath me. Her fingers dug aggressively into my hair, and kept me rooted in the present. I resisted the urge to grind against her and failed at least twice before I felt her move her leg with purpose to wrap around my thigh. She pressed herself against me, pulling my hips to meet hers. My hands moved absently, searching for bare skin anywhere I could find it. I slid around to grip her breasts and bring them hungrily to my mouth. She felt so amazing and real in my hands. These weren't just for show.

Her movements were unpracticed and entirely without pretention. Her lips were so fucking soft and full that I kissed them with a nearly psychotic level of need. I may have bitten her lips, or perhaps she bit mine, because I could taste the iron in my mouth.

The small part of me that hadn't given over entirely to instinct worried that I might be hurting or scaring her. I gathered my last ounce of restraint and asked, "Is this okay?"

"Shut up. No more fucking words."

Instant, vicious and fucking perfect.

More than what she said, her tone resonated with me and I just totally let go.

The passenger seat was still leaning forward, and so I wrapped my arms around her and laid her down reclining against the seat, all the while keeping our mouths connected. I slid her dress up to her waist, grabbed her underwear in my fist and slid them down one side. They caught on her hip and I heard a slight tear before they were off. I licked, kissed and nibbled my way down her body. I lifted her right leg to set her foot on the headrest of the driver's seat before placing her left leg over my shoulder.

She was so fucking wet for me, and I wanted nothing more than to be inside her. I couldn't resist touching her. She rocked her pelvis down against my hand. I plunged my fingers inside of her while I circled her clit with my tongue, tasting every bit of her. She reached up over her head and grabbed the dash with both hands to steady herself. The sight of her beautiful body illuminated by the reflection from the screen, refracted through the rain had me so hard it hurt.

I reached down with my free hand and unbuttoned my pants, freeing my dick from its cruel confinement.

I wanted to make her come, to feel her coming apart around me. Yet when I felt she was getting close, she suddenly sat up and pushed me against the back of the seat and straddled my lap.

I slid one hand up the front of her thigh until I reached her hip pulling her closer into my lap, until I could feel her wetness pushed up against me. I moved my hand back up and over her hip, over the swell of her ass, and slipped my fingers inside her from behind. She felt so fucking perfect and warm. My cock was like a divining rod seeking her of its volition. Her clit was pressed tightly to my cock and she ground against me until it was almost painful. I scraped my teeth against her nipple and felt her entire body respond, prompting me to bite a little harder. Her grip on my shoulders tightened and she came, shuddering, with a loud moan.

There was no way I was going to let her come down completely, so I kept going while I fumbled for my wallet. She took over, rolling the condom on me with one smooth motion. My face buried against her chest, giving a silent thanks to the engineers at the American Fucking Motor Corps for their foresight in designing such a huge back seat, before sliding forward in order to replace my fingers with my cock.

"I need you," she whimpered, as she leaned in, nipping and biting at my chin and neck.

I slid my hands around her waist and cupped her ass. I lifted her easily on top of me, then ran my hands up her back and into her hair anchoring her to me as we began to move. It felt so good to be inside of her, to forget that anything else existed outside our joined bodies. Our movements were fast and frenzied, and it wasn't long before I felt her start to tighten around me, again, triggering my own release.

My mind was blissfully clear - Alice having given me one thing I needed most- an escape. In that moment while I clung to her like a drowning man, the only sounds were her pounding heart, our panting breath and the rain against the roof of the car.

I suddenly understood why Charlie had kept it for so long.

A/N: This is a first for me. It would have been impossible without the unrelenting support of Floridachickie and Twanza, who insisted that old people and old cars were worth reading about.