Smarty

White Pontiac Heaven

A/N : Car smut y'all

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Vance hopper likes danger. He likes the thrill that comes with it. He likes the cold sweat that trickles down the back of his spine, he likes the rough and tumble, the broken bones and bloody teeth that come with it. Danger to Vance is siren seductive, something he can't help but fall to his knees and worship. Danger is pain, and Vance likes pain; pain and pleasure mix easy with him.

Vance is not the type of guy you should go steady with. Vance isn't good. He's mean and rude but no one has a face like Vance does, no one has a voice like Vance does, and vance won't leave you, can't bring himself to cut ties like he does with all the rest, cause your the first girlfriend he's had. Your the only one he's ever wanted, the only one that's stuck around long enough, and he knows sometimes the words spill from his mouth like blood, he knows that he hurts you, he knows it and it hurts to admit, but he's always had a knack for violence. He's lucky you love him enough to let it slide. He's lucky, and he wouldn't leave you, not even if you asked. And you won't ask, will you?

Because you love him, broken bones and bruises, arguments and all.

So, you tolerate the fast cars. You tolerate the mood swings and the backhand slap during sex, you do it all for him. Vance isn't good, Vance isn't nice, Vance Hopper is a really shitty boyfriend sometimes, but he tries. He tries real hard at times, and that's what makes it worth it.

The dangerous driving, you can allow. The cigarettes and drinking down the woods, the creeping around in the dark, you let it all go. It still scares you, though.

That's what you have to allow when dating Vance. If you date the neighborhood punk, you fuck the bad one in the back of his car, you have to deal with the things that come with it. Drug-taking, drinking, dangerous driving; even if it scares you to hell, you have to let it slide. Such a pushover, ain't ya?

"Fuckin' cunt-wad!" Vance snaps, slapping his hand on the steering wheel. "Watch where you're driving, dumb fuck!"

Vance gets road-rage, alot. He doesn't try to keep calm. He'll never try, and you'll never ask him to.

"Light me a cigarette." he says, laying his hand across the steering wheel.

you pull out a pale white stick and light the tip. Vance takes it from you, slides it between split lips, and takes a deep drag as his hand, the one not spread across the leather steering wheel, grasps a handful of your thigh and kneads the flesh, real sleazy and sweet.

"I wanna go a road-trip one day." You say, staring out at the wide expanse of lonesome road. "Nevada, or las vegas."

Vance's hand goes deeper, slides between your thighs and spreads them. "I'll take ya the next time i get paid."

His part-time job at the local MOT station pays well, and they let him lose his temper if a customer isn't being very considerate. Vance likes his job, and he likes his car. He likes taking you out on long drives in his car. he likes to put the hood down and blast music, led zeppelin and black sabbath, sometimes he'll let you pick if he's in a good mood.

"I could grab us some sandwiches." You offer, smiling a little.

The diner you work at makes great sandwiches, real nice. Sometimes, if Vance hasn't eaten all day, he'll come into the diner and sit down at a booth, send away every other waitress until you agree to serve him. Sometimes, he skulks around the back and gives you a kiss before he leaves. He always tastes like cigarettes, he says you taste like cherry lip-balm. When you part, it looks like he's wearing lipstick instead.